


The Good Side of Bad Karma

by klancekorner



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Criminal Keith (Voltron), Dead Parents, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Famous Lance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Keith (Voltron), I just love my boys, Keith (Voltron) Being an Asshole, Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Keith needs love in his life, Keith wants Shiros approval, Lance is damaged, Lance pretends to be a ho, M/M, Minor Character Death, Smut, Voltron, and im trying something a little different, keith has demons, klangst, please be patient with me, probably lots of emotional outbursts and fighting, this is so hard for me to write lol, voltron legendary defender - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-04-25 07:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 93,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14373750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klancekorner/pseuds/klancekorner
Summary: Lance is a flashy, corny, celebrity talk-show host with a hidden agenda.Keith is an adrenaline junkie who steals cars for a living and dreams about dying young.Their paths cross and it turns into a beautiful, stupidly angsty mess.





	1. Porsche

**Author's Note:**

> \-- Title from “Rock Bottom” by Hailee Steinfeld and DNCE.  
> \-- I really dont hate LA and i know this stereotypes it a lot, but this is Keiths POV. He’s not very analytical. I mean no harm to that beautiful city i promise.  
> \-- Keith is an asshole but things change and he’s had a rough go  
> \-- you guys know me, i need like 893405738 words to set up the story before the story actually starts so i apologize for this entire chapter of boringness im sorry  
> \-- i know nothing about stealing cars for money (idea from the show Shameless), or the prison system. Or anything important, really. Please dont ask me technical questions about jail and bail and charges and all that. I just watch crime shows sometimes and this is what i have gathered from them please have mercy  
> \-- i, generally, have no idea what im doing. Like, with this story, and with my life 
> 
> Love you all, thanks for clicking!

Whenever Keith sits still for too long, he gets this warm, numb feeling in his bones. It starts in his fingertips. He always knows it’s coming because whatever he is holding starts to lose its weight. The texture starts to dull under the pads of his fingers. It’s almost like the object that was very much an  _ object _ suddenly starts to become nothingness; just an appearance of something. An empty shell of something. Because if you think about anything long enough, that’s just what happens to it. It kind of just starts to become nothing. 

The numbness eventually travels through to every vein in his body. It feels stagnant. It feels like it’s clogging him up. Swelling his joints. Making it difficult for him to move; difficult to do anything really. It itches on the surface of his skin, determined to be felt; or rather, not felt at all. And he wishes he could say that the feeling scares him. He wishes he could say that it makes him nervous for his health, or uncomfortable. But it doesn’t. It just sits on top of him; heavy like brick.

In high school, the feeling would hit during his long classes. The teacher would be talking about the revolutionary war or quadratic equations and Keith would feel it; quickly and slowly all at once. The feeling that he is  _ wasting away _ ; that he is becoming static.  _ Lifeless _ . Nothing. 

He would excuse himself and walk blankly down the hallways. Sometimes he would consider punching a locker. Running his rough nails on a chalkboard, just to get any sensation back. When he felt particularly hollow, he would run to the outdoor track in the dead of winter and sprint. Sprint and sprint and sprint until his lungs were burning and his skin was on fire. Then, and  _ only _ then, would he be able to walk back into his dull, gray classroom; heart thudding and skin melting as it adjusts to the indoor heat. 

It doesn’t seem like something people enjoy talking about with him. It’s not something people like to hear about. It makes people uncomfortable. The words “sensory disorder” and “depression” have been thrown around Keith’s head, carelessly and pretentiously. People may not enjoy listening to his problems but they  _ genuinely _ enjoy diagnosing him, which makes anger prickle in his chest. Because they won’t even listen to his reasoning. They won’t even consider that there may be a concrete _ reason _ why he feels numb. They just don’t  _ care _ . He fights the urge to snap at them, because they really  _ do _ think they’re just trying to help. They really do believe they have good intentions, even if all they want to do, ultimately, is hear themselves talk. 

It didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when Keith failed out of college. Most of Keith’s “friends” in college rolled their eyes and admitted they had a bet going, to see how long he would last. Sitting in a lecture hall and studying things that don’t even  _ matter _ just made the feeling so much worse. It started to take over before he even sat down. He would feel the numbness, burrowed within his fingertips, before he even started walking to class. It was only a matter of time before he stopped going to class and started looking for other options instead. Options to make him feel more  _ alive _ . Not drugs. Not alcohol. That stuff just makes him feel even number. 

But venturing into the forest at 2AM. Pitch darkness. Leaving his phone at home so he can’t call for help. Climbing the rocky sides of valleys. Smashing in the front of a car with a baseball bat and running when he hears police sirens. Standing on the edge of a tall building; not to jump, just to stand. To think about the possibility of falling. To think about how  _ human _ he really is. How  _ easy _ it really is to die. 

He loves the feeling of his heart thumping. His hands shaking. The woosh of breath that leaves his chest when he is truly amazed by something. Truly  _ frightened _ by something. And the moment he was kicked out of school he was looking for the next thing. His next fix. The opportunity found him in the form of a red, glossy Porsche with bright, unfiltered headlights and a gorgeous, roaring engine. And when the window rolled down, revealing the driver, Keith knew he had found what he needed. 

You could probably say that meeting Rolo was a turning point in Keith’s life. It was the first time Keith learned not to be ashamed of what he wanted, but to chase it instead. And what he desired, essentially, was the the feeling of living. Of being in  _ danger _ , yet in complete control. Of being  _ something _ . 

Stealing sports cars isn’t really what Keith saw himself doing with his life, but it turns out there are entire illegal  _ businesses _ crafted simply from people who steal expensive cars and deliver them to different places, to be sold at an even higher profit. What better for Keith, than doing something  _ illegal _ and getting to drive 120mph in a sexy, red Porsche while he does it? 

Rolo is his manager and easily one of the richest men on earth. Turns out that re-selling cars you never even bought in the first place can get you loaded pretty quickly. Keith only gets a small cut of it, and it’s still far more money than he’ll ever need. Rolo calls Keith whenever there’s a delivery that needs to be made. The first couple of times, Keith was sloppy about it. He smashed the driver’s window, feeling too impatient because the door wasn’t opening fast enough. The car alarm blared and he ran faster than his feet could carry him. 

He’s gotten better at it now, obviously. He knows all the techniques. He knows all the rules. And even though he can practically do it in his sleep, that doesn’t make it any less exciting. Keith craves the rush of it like an alcoholic craves a drink. It consumes him like a drug, and he loves every second of it. 

 

><><><><

 

Keith pads into his living room, feeling the exhaustion tug at every single one of his muscles as he collapses onto his couch. He doesn’t even bother taking his shoes off, because bending over to do so just seems like too much of a hassle. 

His apartment looks way too polished and classy for someone like him to live in it; it’s got black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Floor-to-ceiling windows and a fridge with a glass door, reserved just for wine. It’s not a place for a boy like him. He’s got messy, dark hair that never sits quite right on his head. Pale skin covered in small scars from things he doesn’t remember doing. Faded black ink from tattoos that used to be more meaningful. 

There  _ is _ one scar that he doesn’t particularly care for--it’s about an inch in length, a millimeter in width, and cuts straight through his left eyebrow. Where the scar is, no hair can grow. So Keith has this thin, permanent gap, right at the arch of his eyebrow, that is completely bare. It’s not that he’s self conscious about it. He doesn’t really care. It’s kind of just a part of his face now. But he doesn’t really appreciate how he got it, which is why it annoys him to look at it. While he may have gotten all of his other scars by jumping out of moving cars and climbing mountains with nothing but the clothes on his back, the large scar on his face is nothing but a reminder of a glorified cooking incident that happened to him when he was nine. 

Long story short, he was using a knife when he...wasn’t supposed to be. His older brother, Shiro, saw this and tried to gently take it out of his hands. Keith, lacking the presence of even one gentle bone in his body, lost his tiny temper and yanked the knife back out of Shiro’s hand. He yanked it a little too hard. Yanking, apparently, has clapback. 

It’s just one of those things you are supposed to learn when you’re nine.

To this day, Shiro still talks about it. “You’re temper could have lost you an eye!” He always says, incredulous. And Keith just shrugs. Because yeah, it could’ve...but it didn’t.  

He has a feeling that people  _ would _ question his fancy apartment if he didn’t live in Los Angeles. But in this city, everyone has a snazzy highrise for no good reason. There are people who vlog their entire day and put it up online, which somehow gets them enough money for a loft next to the Hollywood sign. So Keith doesn’t feel guilty for what he does. He doesn’t necessarily care about the money he gets, but it’s always nice to earn money for doing something you enjoy. Besides, the people they sell to are just shallow, empty Hollywood men with whitened teeth who have far more money than they know what to do with.  Keith shouldn’t feel guilty for taking it. It’s not like what those people do even merits that kind of money; what are they earning it from? Getting expensive spray tans and posting glamorous photos on instagram? 

Keith really should be more tolerant of Hollywood personalities considering he lives in the city that is literally fabricated for them; a bougie, “all organic” cafe at the corner of every block, luxury shopping centers with only designer clothes, expensive lavish gyms and spas everywhere you look. Everything is about appearances. But Keith can’t stand it. Fake people are  _ everywhere _ ; this godforsaken city is literally  _ crawling _ with them. He can get a protein bar from the grocery store and see a famous youtuber posing next to the dry spaghetti. He isn’t really sure how he ended up here, living in Los Angeles, but he truly doesn’t belong. It’s like one of those multiple choice questions; “which one of these things does  _ not _ belong?” It’s Keith. Keith is the thing that doesn’t belong. 

His older brother Shiro used to live here. It was his dream to be a movie producer, and he came to Los Angeles at a young twenty-one years old to pursue his goal career. Now, six years later, he got a healthy dose of reality that he desperately denied for so long; some people just aren’t made to follow their dreams. He left LA a few weeks ago and moved to the suburbs to find a job in management instead. 

Keith, contrary to what many people may believe just by looking at him, is very close to his family. Shiro wasn’t always around when he was younger. He was a very busy guy. He had a dream to follow, after all. He spent most of his youth with a video camera plastered to his face, and Keith just let him do what he needed to do. Keith never really thought much of himself, but he always thought the world of Shiro. He always admired Shiro’s inhibited happiness. His passion, and his determination. It was something Shiro had in common with his father. Keith never really loved anything enough to care for it the way Shiro did. He always saw Shiro doing bigger and better things. His brother wasn’t someone who was meant to stay in one place for too long. He was someone who was meant to be seen by the world. 

Unfortunately, the world disagreed. 

It makes Keith angry to think about it, because Shiro genuinely deserves to be happy. He is one of the only people in the world who deserves to get what he wants. And Keith can’t help but think that he  _ would’ve _ , if their dad didn’t… 

Whatever. 

Keith makes the productive move from his couch to his bed and falls onto it, feeling his eyes start to drift shut. He’s still got his jeans on. His gray, leather jacket. Not the softest things to fall asleep in, but he’s been driving for almost fifty one hours straight, and he can feel the exhaustion taking over. 

Maybe he should call Shiro. 

He feels around the covers, trying to find where his phone inevitably fell out of his pocket. After about three minutes pass, he realizes he left it on the couch. He sighs. 

Shiro probably wouldn’t want to talk to him anyway. Not after that fight they had. Maybe he should just let it lie. Even though it’s been weeks since they last spoke, Keith still has a feeling Shiro is just as mad at him. 

As much as Shiro is an older brother, he’s slowly turned into a second father for Keith. He was practically forced to, after...what happened. So Keith doesn’t find it a surprise at all that when Shiro found out how he was making his money, he didn’t approve of it. Keith never expected Shiro to be okay with the whole “stealing cars for money” thing-- and that’s why he never planned on telling him. But he underestimated how well Shiro knows him, and he forgot that  _ Shiro _ was the one who always picked up the pieces after Keith did all of the other stupid shit he’s done, so  _ of course _ Shiro would know that Keith was up to no good. He knows Keith’s habits better than anyone else. And when Keith told him about Rolo, and about the business he was suddenly involved in, Shiro completely lost it. He lost it in the way Shiro usually does; some stern yelling, some door slamming. But this time it felt different. It felt like the final straw. It felt like, “I’m giving up on you now.” 

He didn’t outwardly say it. 

But Keith felt it. 

Two weeks later, Shiro moved to his new neighborhood and Keith sat in his living room, on the floor in front of the couch, just staring at the wall. Because...losing his dad was hard enough. But losing Shiro? That hurt in a completely foreign way. 

Keith can’t change who he is. He has spent so much of his life trying. But when enough shit happens to you, you start to wonder what the point is in trying to be better. 

 

><><><><

 

“Hey, man. You’re early.” Rolo says with a smirk when he opens the door. “I haven’t even gotten the location yet.” 

Keith shrugs, padding into the marble foyer. Because their business is...not approved upon by the law, they don’t really have a “headquarters”. Typically, delivery drivers just meet at Rolo’s disgustingly expensive mansion and are dispatched from there. 

Keith showed up at Rolo’s doorstep early because he woke up with a not-so-great feeling.

He sometimes has nightmares where everything's the same, but he is completely underwater. He can still breathe, and walk, and talk. But his hearing is muffled and his sight is blurry and his movements are heavy and slow. And he just exists in this suffocating in-between, where he is alive but that’s all he is. He can’t do anything. He can’t feel anything. 

And last night was particularly bad, because when he woke up, the feeling still lingered. So the moment he got a text from Rolo he was out the door. He didn’t care about arriving early. He needed to get the fuck out of there. 

It’s something that happens more than he likes to admit.

Rolo does not look like a multimillionaire. He looks like a hobo who took up surfing at 12 years old. His shaggy, dirty blonde hair and loose fitting, typically torn clothes were no testament to his bank account. Like Keith, he looks very much like he doesn’t fit in the polished mansion he resides in. Keith has a feeling that most of the people working for Rolo have the same issue. It’s not the worst issue to have, of course. 

“Want a beer?” Rolo asks casually, as if he doesn’t have a beer cellar with about 456 craft brews and instead just has a six pack in his fridge. “Ease the nerves before a busy day?”

Keith shakes his head. The least thing he needs is something to dull his senses even more. “Nah, you know I don’t drink.” He says emotionlessly, bypassing where Rolo is standing and walking into the extravagant entertainment studio. A long, bright red couch lines the white, polished walls and Keith flops down onto it, assuming the position he usually does while he waits for his day to start. He turns his head slightly and sees Rolo standing in the doorway. “But could I have some ice water?” He asks, mostly because he doesn’t feel like making conversation. Rolo smiles and nods, walking away towards the kitchen. 

“A  _ baby _ ?” A loud, obnoxious voice exclaims from behind Keith. “Oh my, ladies and gentleman, I was  _ way _ off!” 

Irritation prickles along Keith’s skin at the screechy, unwelcome voice that somehow just raided his senses. He looks up, facing the large flat screen TV hanging above him and scowls and the semi-familiar face grinning back at the camera 

_ God _ , he hates LA. 

The annoying voice floods the room again, grating on Keith’s nerves. “And when on  _ earth _ did you find this out, love? I can imagine Jared was  _ excited _ !” 

The camera switches to show the face of a young, blonde woman covered in makeup, wearing nine inch heels and pressing a freshly manicured hand to her stomach. Keith recognizes her from a movie trailer he’s seen recently. Most likely a well-known actress. “Jared was actually very excited! It was funny, he made sure to call all of his friends the second he found out! I was like,  _ honey _ , my  _ parents _ don’t even know yet!” She lets out a loud, fake giggle and Keith’s stomach churns in disgust. 

Keith knows this guy. He knows the talk show. Well, at least as much as anyone can know anything in LA. It’s called “Morning Blues” or “Away With the Blues” or…”Talking with Blue” or some shit like that.  It’s always on when he starts his morning early-- like the first thing people want to do is watch some spray-tanned, conceited asshole interview other spray tanned, conceited assholes. As if people actually  _ care _ what goes on in the lives of those they’ve never met. 

One things he knows for sure, is that he absolutely can’t  _ stand _ this guy. 

Lance Martinez is the literal personification of everything wrong with Hollywood. 

He is the poster child for being the poster child for things. His father, Anton Martinez, was an acting  _ legend _ ...according to most people. Keith tends to disagree, but then again, he’s never seen much merit in acting, anyway. Nevertheless, Anton was one of the greats. He was in every movie, narrated every documentary, and starred in every show; from dramas to sitcoms. Internationally renowned, charming, on the cover of every “world’s sexiest man” magazine. It’s no wonder that when he had a son the world made sure to shower that child with the same love and affection Anton always received--spoiling him rotten with overspilling praise and private jet tours and $5000 tuxedos. Now, Lance is only twenty three, a remarkably young age for his sudden fame, but hosting his own celebrity talk show where literally  _ all he does _ is call his guests “love” like he’s some kind of british wannabe, and laugh loudly at their shallow jokes that aren’t even funny. 

Everyone makes a big deal out of it because he’s “Anton’s son” and “that boy is a legend” and he’s “Following in the footsteps of his father” which isn’t true at all, because the last person in the world to have any shred of talent, at all, is Lance fucking Martinez. He’s just spoiled boy who was in the right place at the right time. 

“Well you have  _ got _ to keep me updated!” Lance’s voice cuts through Keith’s thoughts rudely. “Because we’re friends, right? I consider you my friend, Kaitlyn!” He says in a corny voice,  just enough to get a cheesy chuckle from the tiny woman in the seat across from him. 

“Oh  _ Lance _ .” She replies, like this is something they do all the time, even though they’ve clearly just met two minutes before the show aired. 

Keith has a lot of negative feelings about this boy. He’s not a fan of people who piggyback off of other people’s success, and then take all the fame and glory as if they’ve earned it. 

And why does Keith even  _ know _ so much about this fucked up family, you ask? 

Well...Because of what happened to Anton Martinez.

“Got the location, man.” Rolo’s voice picks up from behind him. Keith turns his attention away from the TV and back to Rolo’s tired, lazy eyes. Rolo hands him his long awaited glass of ice water. “This one might be a long one. I’d take a snack, if I were you.” 

Keith opens his phone and reads the address Rolo sent him. It’s a town he has been to before, a couple months ago. He remembers the street name well. He pockets his phone and takes a small sip of his ice water, loving how cold it feels in his cottony mouth. Lance jabbers on loudly behind him. He groans. “Why do you watch this shit?” He asks Rolo, not even trying to sugarcoat it. “How can you stand that guy? He’s obnoxious.” 

Rolo shrugs. “Sometimes he’s got some really hot guests on there, man.” He says. “Like today. I saw Kaitlyn Rhen and I was like...damn, dude. Hot girl.” 

Keith blinks tiredly at him, feeling defeated. He really shouldn’t try to have conversations with Rolo anymore. “Yeah...” He agrees half-heartedly. “Anyway, thanks man. I’ll text you when I pick up the car.” 

Rolo nods. “Text me when you get to the destination, too.” 

“‘Course.” Keith says, waving. “See ya soon.” 

 

><><><><><

 

It’s kind of shocking to Keith that it’s almost been two years since the death of Anton Martinez. Not that he ever really gave a shit about the man, but the colossal aftermath of his death was not an easy one to forget. It seems like it just happened yesterday. It doesn’t help that people are still talking about it. 

It was a plane crash. Or rather, a private jet crash. Right off of the coast of Puerto Rico. A very random and uncommon place for disasters like that to happen. 

The world went  _ ballistic _ . 

People speculated murder. Suicide. Maybe a drunk pilot or somebody who had it out for Anton. Nobody wanted to believe that it may have just been an accident, or a mechanical error. 

Every cover of every magazine. Every homepage of every website. Documentaries were made. Speeches were made. Books were written. It was the only thing people spoke about for a very, very long time. And Keith would chalk it down to just LA folk being LA folk, but it was the whole country. It was, in fact, a very large portion of the entire world. People took off of work. It was everywhere Keith went; on billboards and park benches and even small things like tubes of chapstick. If you didn’t know who he was, you still mourned him.  

Keith remembers turning on the radio while he was on a delivery and hearing an interview with Lance Martinez right after the tragedy. He still remembers Lance’s voice, not even wavering. Not even  _ shaking _ . He just said. “Yes, it is sad. Our family has been shaken. Thank you for your support, and for everyone’s kind messages.” 

It felt rehearsed. It felt like a response that was too mature for a young man who just lost his dad. Keith remembers shutting off the radio and scowling hard at the road in front of him, hands squeezing the steering wheel a little harder than normal.

Because Keith is no stranger to having a dead father. 

And when it happened to him, that is  _ not _ how he reacted, at all.  

 

><><><><><

 

The roaring of the engine, quite literally, brings Keith to life. Sports cars may seem overrated to some people, but Keith has driven in a lot of them at this point, and there is nothing quite like hearing the engine of a sports car sputter to life; reverberating through your chest like it’s very own heartbeat. Keith loves that it vibrates his entire seat. He loves the loud sound, echoing throughout the parking garage--so loud that it’s so easy for him to get caught. And while he knows that the number one rule of the business is, “If you get caught, you get fired”, he always likes to take the risk anyway. 

He revs the engine one more time before accelerating to a speed that should not be used in a parking garage, and practically breaking through the gate and out onto the open road. 

He rolls the windows down no matter what the temperature is. It could be twelve degrees or it could be one hundred and twelve degrees; Keith always makes it a point to feel the wind whipping through his hair and taste the air. These are things that he takes for granted until they are gone, and he’s stuck in his stagnant apartment with the stale air drifting around his head. 

According to his gps, he has about three hours until he reaches the garage. It’s in a small suburb a few towns away from LA. 

He floors it, watching the speedometer escalate. 80mph, 90mph, 100mph. 

His heart flutters as he weaves through the cars, passing them eagerly, like gaining speed on a racetrack. 

He can easily do this for three more hours. 

 

><><><><

 

Keith’s destination can only be described by one word; cute. Everything is so motherfucking  _ cute _ . Tiny, pastel colored storefronts. Large grassed areas and park benches. Simple fountains and outdoor seating. It’s small, but very personable. Keith feels like a bullet, tearing through an otherwise perfect place with his loud, glossy, black sports car. Well, it’s not  _ his _ . But, still. 

It’s typical of Rolo to sometimes send Keith to “halfway checkpoints”--which are basically towns that don’t quite have anything to do with the “stolen cars” circuit, but are convenient for transactions to take place. Usually these towns are quaint and not very well known. Honestly, Keith loves being able to visit towns that he would not have discovered otherwise. It always makes him think of Shiro--just how much Shiro would love to see these places. To film in these places. He can practically hear the excited laughter, and Shiro would walk into the bakery with a camera sitting right in front of his face, taking in the different culture of the business and the town. 

Shiro was always fascinated with undiscovered places. Keith always wished that someday, Shiro would discover something wonderful on his own. 

Keith drives to the small lot that Rolo instructed him to park in, just behind a small cafe. It’s well hidden, which is good. There are a few potholes and cracks in the asphalt, which proves to Keith that in such a perfectly manicured town, this is an area nobody really pays attention to. A smart move, on Rolo’s part. Just like always, there is a contact there waiting with another car for Keith to take back to LA. 

Keith shuts off the engine, already missing the feel of it as is shudders to a stop. He climbs out of the car and tosses his keys to the man waiting, who is doing a really great job perpetuating the “wanted criminal” stereotype. He’s bald with a scalp tattoo. A scruffy beard, muscles that could only possibly be made with steroids, and seven eyebrow piercings. On one eyebrow. Which Keith just thinks is a horrible fashion decision. 

He thrusts out an envelope to Keith. “Your cut.” He says simply. Keith takes it, smirking a little. 

“Thanks.” 

And that’s it. The business deal is over. 

He watches the scary dude climb into the beautiful car he was once in, and start up the engine. The man gives him a short nod, and then backs out of the lot. The engine roars a little obnoxiously as the car zooms down the small town road and out of site. But Keith doesn’t blame him; revving the engine in those cars is definitely something that makes the job worth it. As much as Keith feels disconnected to those burly, terrifying men, he also realizes that he might have a lot more in common with them than people think. Maybe they are just in it for the money, but Keith is convinced that you would never really get into this line of work unless you seek the thrill of it. Maybe they all have that in common--and it’s kind of comforting to know. 

Of course something else they all have in common is the same, small tattoo on their left ankles. Four overlapping triangles drawn with very thin black ink lines. It’s the mark of the trade. The symbol of the business. Keith didn’t really care about getting another tattoo, because he already had a few. But it is a requirement when you get into the ‘car theft’ circuit, to get the mark. It’s for business purposes, really. So that mistakes can be traced back to someone. So people know how to identify each other. It has prevented a lot of mistakes for Keith, who never really knows who is point of contact is just by looking at them. Because while some of them are big, scary, horrifying men like it was in this case, others are sometimes young women or surfer boys or sharp-looking business men with burberry glasses. It’s just hard to tell. Stealing cars yields a diverse crowd. Keith actually likes how to tattoo looks, anyway. 

As the sound of the retreating engine finally fades to nothing, Keith glances at the car that was left behind for him. It’s not nearly as glamorous. It’s just a normal, everyday car. Usually the car that returns home is an average, dull looking thing. Still illegal, just not quite as exciting. It’s kind of a way of dusting over footprints, blending back in with the crowd. It reduces the likelihood of getting caught. Keith sighs, already starting to feel the bored, buzzing numbness collecting in his fingertips. It’s all mental, and he knows that. But it doesn’t stop him from itching to get rid of it. Any time he’s not actively doing something he dreads the feeling. He swallows, clenching his fists hard. Distraction. He needs a distraction. 

Suddenly, he smells the sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air and turns his head to the side, sniffing graciously. What the…? 

Oh, right. He’s behind a cafe. His mouth waters. When was the last time he even ate? He can’t really remember. 

Keith knows that according to the rules, he needs to be in that car, driving home right now. There are very few opportunities for breaks and it is highly recommended to never leave a delivery to do something else…

But the smell of bread get stronger and Keith’s stomach grumbles relentlessly. Defeatedly, he starts walking towards the front of the cafe, trying to come up with reasons not to as he rounds off the side of the building and failing miserably. 

The small bell overhead jingles as he steps inside. His presence feels very jarring in the quiet, peaceful air of the shop. Clearly, this is a small, ‘Mom and Pop” establishment because it looks like it’s been around for a while. The bright pastel paints are a little worn. The air smells like old wood and cake batter. The woman behind the counter is having a joyful conversation with the man who appears to have just ordered a baguette. 

It’s not that he loves places like this, or anything. That would be absurd--nothing is more boring than a shop that’s been around for decades and hasn’t changed at all. It’s just that...not many of them exist in LA. And these places always remind him of his father. 

Keith feels a small smile tugging at his lips, and quickly wipes it away. His father loved family businesses like this; despite being a world traveler and the most adventurous person Keith has ever known, his father always spoke wistfully about forgetting it all. Opening a bagel shop in a small town and getting to know every neighbor and every customer. It was something his father always planned on doing when he got too old to see the world. 

Of course it doesn’t matter now, because he never even got that old. 

Keith tentatively walks up to the counter, stuffing his numbing hands in his pockets. He knows he should get the fuck outside and get in that car before anyone can report it stolen, but his stomach rumbles and grumbles and something about this place is comforting to him. 

“Hello, sweetheart! What can I get for ya?” The woman at the counter says. She’s got long blonde hair, pulled up in a tight bun. She grins kindly at Keith, which must be difficult because Keith knows his appearance can be...intense to some people. He appreciates her hospitality, even if it is probably fake. 

Keith clears his throat. Wow, he hasn’t...spoken to other people in a while. “Uh...could I have a plain bagel?” He asks. “Please?” 

“Sure thing, hon!” She responds cheerfully, directing her attention to the cash register. “Cream cheese?” 

Keith nods and hums a little. “Toasted too.” A pause. “Please.” 

She punches a few buttons on the ancient register. “Coming right up.” She says cheerfully, retreating into the kitchen to prepare his order. Keith shuffled awkwardly to the side and stands at the corner of the small shop, hating that he seems to be the center of attention in such a tiny space. People are giving him strange looks. He glances over the small counter to the side of him, covered in small spice bottles like cinnamon and nutmeg and cocoa powder. He’s never like putting any of that shit in his coffee but his mother always does. She likes everything sickeningly sweet. 

Keith sighs wistfully. It’s been a long time since he really spoke to his mother. She hasn’t been the same since the loss of his dad. 

He leans over and sniffs the bottle of cinnamon. 

Hm. Maybe a little wouldn’t taste so bad. 

His nostalgia is abruptly interrupted by the aggressive sound of the door swinging open. The bell jingles loudly in Keith’s ear. He looks up, annoyed, and sees two teenage boys charging into the store and laughing almost maniacally. They are flushed and panting, like they’ve been running for a while, and after a great deal of stumbling, they are at the back of the shop standing right next to Keith. Their laughter is loud and it sounds sour. They are both turned towards the door with smug grins on their faces, like they are waiting for the person who was chasing them. 

Keith glares at them, thoroughly unamused by their antics. They can’t be that old—they look like they’re around seventeen. He remembers passing a school building as he was driving in--they must be from the local high school. It is about the hour of dismissal, anyway. Keith feels like whatever they are up to is far less mature than sixteen. 

And when the door jingles again, he is proven right. 

A younger boy, probably thirteen or fourteen, enters the cafe with a scowl that is seconds away from breaking and tears filling his eyes. He glares at the two older boys on the other side of the room. “Stop it!” He shouts. “Give me my bracelet back!”

The five onlookers in the cafe glance curiously between the two parties, remaining cautiously silent. Keith narrows his eyes at the boys next to him, who are laughing loudly again. 

“You couldn’t catch us, freak! That means it’s  _ ours _ now!”

The boy’s face scrunches up in an expression that Keith’s recognizes as ‘holding back tears.’ “Please!” He begs. “Just give it to me! It’s important!” 

The onlookers continue not to intervene. Keith scowls. Fucking bullies. 

“Important, huh?” One of the older boys taunts. “Why? You got a  _ girlfriend _ or something? She give you this bracelet?” 

The young boy frowns. “No—“ 

“Right. Because who would want to date  _ you _ ?” 

“My dad gave that to me.” The boy says with a shaking voice. “Please.” 

Keith frowns, officially giving the scene his full attention. 

_ My dad gave that to me... _

His heart starting to race a little faster. They took something...something from the boy’s  _ father _ ...that’s just fucked up. It’s...

“Oh I see,” the older boy rebuttals in a condescending voice. “You mean the daddy who left?” 

“ _ Shut _ up!” 

“You know he only left because he didn’t want  _ you _ right?”

Keith’s heart clenches. “Alright that’s  _ enough _ .” He says in a monotone voice, stepping in front of the bullies. “Stop torturing him.” If nobody else in this cafe is going to fucking do anything, he will. “Give him whatever it is you took.” 

One of the boys, the one with the bad buzz cut and dirty red shirt, gives him a onceover and snorts. “Wow. You think you’re a tough guy, don’t you?” He spits. “Well here’s a fun fact. A leather jacket doesn’t make you tough.” His friend laughs. Keith scowls. He can almost feel the fear vibrating off of the small boy behind him. 

“Give him his bracelet.” Keith repeats, feeling oddly protective. He doesn’t know this kid. He doesn’t really know what they are talking about or what his family situation is. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to help this boy. 

Maybe it’s because he has something special his father gave him, too, before everything...horrible happened. Keith feels the weight of it in his pocket, where it always is. A small keychain of massive importance. One of the last surviving mementos of his father’s life. He doesn’t dare go anywhere without it. “You’re being a dick.” He says to the older pair collectively. 

Now both of the boys are scowling at him. “Stay out of it, Mick Jagger.” One of them says in a lower voice. “None of your fucking business.” 

“Actually, it is.” Keith says back, blood beginning to boil. “He’s just a kid. Have some damn decency.” 

“Get out of the way.” It’s a command. 

“No way.” Keith snarls. 

“ _ Move _ .” 

“No.” 

A small voice pipes up behind Keith. “I-it’s fine. I’ll just go. I-I’m sorry, sir.” 

Keith turns around. “I’m getting your bracelet back.” He says to the boy, quietly. 

He is vaguely aware of some of the onlookers taking out their phones. Fuckers. They will film the bullying but do nothing to stop it? Maybe this place is far from LA but the behavior certainly isn’t. 

“There’s two of us and one of you.” One of the boys growls. “You really think you could take us both? Yeah, right. Screw off.”

“Why don’t we go outside and find out?” Keith says, throwing a protective arm over the boy behind him and loving the way his own heart beat escalates at the challenge. 

At this point, the nice blonde lady has returned with Keith’s bagel looking quite frightened. “Excuse me? Is there a problem?” She asks in a cautious, sunny demeanor. 

“Outside?” One of the boys responds, completely ignoring her. “Why not right here?” And then he is throwing a punch clean across Keith’s jaw. Keith only stumbles backwards a little, not completely stunned. It didn’t hurt half as much as the boy probably thinks it did, and Keith has been punched in the face enough times for it to feel like nothing. A small gasp collectively makes its way across the cafe and Keith knows a bunch of people probably have that punch recorded, which makes him look like a proper wimp. 

Which really,  _ really _ pisses him off. 

So he punches back. Much harder. Because Keith is not the kind of person who does anything halfway, especially not when he feels the familiar adrenaline surging through his veins. The boy falls backwards and more gasps litter the room, much louder this time. The lady behind the register yelps. 

“Hey! Stop that!” She yells. “Get out of here,  _ now _ ! I’ll call the police!” 

In the back of his mind, Keith hears “police” and panics. There is currently a stolen car, registered under no specific name, in the back lot. A car that he is supposed to be in right now. A car that could get him in massive trouble, because he didn’t follow the rules. 

But the two boys have both tackled him now, and they are stumbling roughly out of the cafe. Not only did he not get his  _ bagel _ , but he still hasn’t gotten this fucking  _ bracelet _ out of their filthy hands. The younger boy dodges the commotion just in time, whimpering and sounding very upset. Keith vaguely hears the shutter sounds of phone cameras going off but he ignores it, and they burst through the door before he can hear anything else. Do people really feel the need to document this? What are they going to do, put it online? Hope to get internet famous from a meaningless scuffle? 

Then again, these people aren’t car thieves so they probably don’t see scuffles very often. Keith, luckily, has seen hundreds of them. And he knows exactly how to beat these guys. 

After a decent amount of rough tumbling and hair pulling and swearing coming from both parties, respectively, Keith realizes he’s grown bored of this. He spots the bracelet clenched in Buzz Cut’s meaty fist and decides on a plan of action. 

It really only takes two calculated punches. One at the temple, to daze Buzz Cut, and an uppercut to the chin, to stun his asswipe friend. 

The bracelet falls from his fist and Keith catches it before it hits the ground, wiping some smeared blood from a break in his lip and grinning down at it. 

The young boy approaches him nervously from where he was watching in horror, far away. He looks up at Keith with wide, bloodshot, tearful eyes and holds out a shaky hand. Keith places the bracelet in his palm. 

He glances to the side and sees several phones pointing at him through the large shop windows. He sighs. Well, at least he looked like a badass doing whatever it was. He looks back at the boy, who opens his mouth and probably says “thank you”, but his voice is muffled by the undeniable sound of police sirens, dreadfully close. 

Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

_ Fuck _ .

Keith panics. As someone who absolutely loves running from the cops, he knows when they are too close. And now? They are too close. 

But he tries anyway. 

He can't help it. It’s just in his nature to pick the more difficult way out. And this is an  _ uncharacteristically _ stupid decision for him--because it only makes matters worse. 

They catch him as he is climbing into his illegally owned car, and Keith knows that it’s over. 

He knows that he’ll get the dreaded  _ text _ from Rolo within a matter of minutes, because Rolo keeps unbelievably close tabs on his drivers. The text telling him he’s fired. The text that effectively destroys everything he has worked for over the past few months. As he is being pulled out the car, he still hasn’t quite accepted it. He watches the cops search through the vehicle and glances around for the two bullies, who have successfully escaped. He groans inwardly.

As he is being handcuffed, he still can’t believe it. And even in the back of the police car driving past all the tiny pastel storefronts and ceramic fountains and into an expanse of sad, dead cornfields, Keith still can’t stomach it. Because this is his fault. His stupid, impulsive, careless fault. 

And with this job, once you get caught, you can never,  _ ever _ return to it. 

 

><><><><

  
  
  
  


The ending of Keith’s short lived career is, essentially, what starts everything else. 

  
  
  
  


><><><><

 

-2 Days Later-

 

“You punched a  _ minor _ ?” Shiro’s voice cuts statically into the plastic jail phone. “In the  _ nose _ ?” 

Keith sighs tiredly and runs a hand down his face. He really didn’t want his first phone call to Shiro in months to be from a jail cell. “He wasn’t  _ that _ young.” 

“Sixteen years old, Keith!” Shiro shouts in disbelief. “Do you ever even  _ try _ to use your brain?” 

“They were terrorizing a kid!” Keith snaps back. 

“Since when do you care?” It sounds cold. A little too cold for Shiro. But he has a point. Keith certainly hasn’t really cared enough about other people lately. Especially not when it could potentially compromise one of his deliveries. “They took something from him.” He argues. 

“What? His lunch money?” 

“No.” Keith grits his teeth. “Something his father gave him. A charm or bracelet or something.” 

Silent static buzzes in Keith’s ear. Then a crackly sigh. “So  _ that’s _ what this is about.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“This is about dad.” 

“No, it’s  _ not _ .” Keith says angrily. “This is about two douchebags who stole something from an innocent kid. Also I’m kind of a wanted criminal, Shiro. It was bound to happen sometime.” 

“Keith--”

“I don’t need you to psychoanalyze the situation.” It comes out bitterly. He is still in a fight with Shiro, after all. “I’ve got a bunch of time alone in here to do that.” 

“You really have to start recognizing when these things ha--” 

“Don’t lecture me.” Keith sighs, exhausted. “I just needed someone to know where I was, alright? That’s it. Im hanging up now.” His chest feels tight as he slams the phone back into the receiver. 

Wow. Fuck this  _ entire day.  _

Keith broke the rules, so he’s assuming Rolo has to let him go. That’s just an occupational hazard. And now Keith is drowning in the aftermath of what could be dozens of stolen cars. He always covers his tracks...fairly well. There is a system to keeping everything hidden. But that system is only immune to so much digging. And Keith admits to being... _ inefficient _ at covering his tracks sometimes. Careless. Guess he’s a rule breaker on much more than one account. Maybe Rolo was right to fire him.

He doesn't know what the cops will find if they break that barrier and dig even deeper. Because Keith is not only in jail for assaulting a minor, his entire criminal career is being exposed as well. 

It’s not like he ever ruled out the option of ending up in jail. He just thought it would be much later in his life than right now. He is still in a holding cell, waiting to be taken to god knows where else. He knows that if that asshole presses charges and he goes to trial, they’ll easily discover more about his not so tasteful career. He could be looking at an ungodly amount of years in prison, all because he punched some douche in the face. All because he couldn’t help to control himself--his unwelcome empathy burning deep within his gut, mixing with all the fury.  The completely  _ inconvenient urge _ he had to help a boy who only had a stupid, small object as a memory of his father. 

A boy who, for a moment, reminded Keith of himself. 

Shiro was right. Of course, because Shiro is always right. 

And now Keith has lost the job that was his whole life--that he loved more than anything. The only thing that ever gave him the feeling he wanted. 

The familiar numbness is already swirling all around him, coupled with the panic of not even having the choice to escape it. The static air is stale and the quiet buzzing of the fluorescent lights above makes everything feel like white noise. It’s Keith's worst nightmare; the ongoing existence of  _ nothing happening _ . Except this time he is locked in it. He can’t go outside and sprint of a track. He can’t put his fist through drywall. 

His fingers twitch desperately and he reaches down to his pocket where the keychain from his father usually sits, only to remember is was confiscated with the rest of his belongings. He clenches a fist frustratedly. He feels naked without it. 

To most people, it looks like a metal key loop with a small, pointed tooth at the end of it. Which really, essentially, is what it is. His father had been an adventurer, of sorts. A traveler. He wanted to see as much of the world as he could. It was his career; a Journalist. He had a way with words that Keith could never, ever master. A few years before he passed away, he went on a two month trip to South Africa. When he returned, he waited until after everyone went to sleep one night, and handed Keith this keychain. At first, Keith was confused, but then his father explained. 

He told Keith how there was a pack of hyenas prowling the land they were staying on, late into the night towards the end of their trip. And while his father and his colleagues managed to find a sheltered hiding place, there was a small family of lions who were attacked viciously, terribly outnumbered. The mother lion ended up jumping in front of her children in order to protect them. Sacrificing herself. His father always said it was heartbreaking--yet beautiful. He had said it taught him a lot about being a parent--about what family is truly about. 

Keith had grimaced at him, not at all amused.  _ “You’re giving me a tooth from a dead lion’s mouth? What the heck, Dad. That’s weird.” _ But his father just smiled softly at him--patient, as he always was.

_ “When I think of that lion, I think of you.” _ He had said.  _ “Tough. And Fearless. But most importantly...Loving.”  _

And Keith thought it was a load of bullshit. He was thirteen and didn’t need that kind of mushy shit from his prophetic father. 

But now, ten years later, his heart aches when he thinks about it. 

The thought of prison guards taking his keychain away from him makes sadness rise like bile in his throat. He lost his keychain. He lost his job. He lost his father. He’s  _ trapped _ . 

Keith is aware that every man in the cell knows why he could be here. It’s pretty obvious, because he’s got the mark of the business on his ankle. Very well known amongst the...criminal community. And his worn out black Vans aren’t hiding it very well. He can feel everyone looking at him; the tiny, pale, pathetic boy who got caught. He huffs quietly, looking down at his feet and clenching the non-existent keychain harder in his fist. 

God, he’s exhausted. All of his muscles ache. And this cell smells like pee. The concrete is cold and he can’t seem to fall asleep. It’s been an ungodly amount of hours. He tries to tell himself to get used to it; this is probably going to be the next few years of his life, after all. 

“Keith Kogane?” A very disgruntled guard called from the other side of the bars. 

Keith glances up at him, dreading the worst. The other men in the cell look up as well. The swooping in his stomach almost makes him dizzy. “Yes?” He asks hesitantly. 

The guard unlocks the door and slides it open, metal clanging and dragging painfully loud against the concrete. “You are free to go.” 

Keith blinks. Uh. “ _ What _ ?” 

The guard sighs like he gets this all the damn time. “Someone has posted bail on your behalf.” He says. “You are free to go. 

Keith stands up shakily. “Someone paid my  _ bail _ ?” He says in disbelief. That could  _ not _ have been cheap. The only person he can think of is Shiro, and he does not have that kind of money. It sure as shit wasn’t Rolo. 

The guard frowns. “Yes. Now  _ move _ . Don’t push your luck. I have places to be.”

Keith walks towards the open door and takes one glance back at the cell. The rest of the prisoners look dumbfounded. For what Keith did? That bail was probably  _ insane _ . 

They hand Keith his belongings and Keith sees the small tooth keychain at the bottom of the plastic bag. Comfort floods all of his senses. 

And then Keith is stepping out into the hot summer air, hugging the Ziploc bag with all of his belongings closer to his chest. He hears the insects buzzing and the humidity leaves a light coat of sweat on his nose. It’s very late--or, early. He saw the clock as we was walking out; 5:46AM. He glances around, looking for some indication as to how to get home. Looking for a clue as to who the hell had enough money to save him. 

Calling an uber to a jail site isn’t exactly acceptable, is it?

But then he sees somebody waving to him at the end of the sidewalk. “Keith Kogane?” The person asks, in a low, booming voice. 

Keith squints curiously, starting to walk towards the mysterious man. As he gets closer, it still doesn’t look or sound like somebody Keith has ever known. He is much larger than Keith, both in height and width. He’s got dark skin and thick arms. A square jaw and soft-looking eyes. His short, brown hair is gelled back professionally and he is in black slacks and a pastel orange button-down. He grins brightly as Keith shyly approaches him, and his teeth are so white that they are practically glowing in the limited light around them. 

Keith has literally never seen this guy before, in his life. Could he be a friend of Rolo’s? Could Keith possibly still have a job? 

“How do you know my name?” Keith asks hesitantly. 

“Oh, sorry! I totally forgot to introduce myself.” The man just keeps grinning kindly and thrusts out a hand. “I’m Hunk. Hunk Garrett.” 

Keith stares down at his hand, not taking it. “...Okay?” He responds, still confused. He clutches theplastic bag even tighter to his chest. The man; Hunk, apparently, raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m here to pick you up?” Hunk explains. “I...I mean...Do you not know who I am?” He asks, clearly at a loss. 

Keith frowns. “No.” He replies. “Are you the one who paid my bail?” It seems like a long shot, but Keith asks anyway. Hunk, surprisingly, nods. 

“Oh, yes! Right, right I was getting to that.” Hunk clears his throat, as if starting over his introduction. “I’m  _ Hunk Garrett _ , Manager of the TV talk show personality,  _ Lance Martinez. _ ”

The name makes Keith bare his teeth on instinct. He stares down at Hunk’s hand again, but this time he actually flinches. “ _ What _ ?” He asks, rudely. “Well what the fuck do you want from  _ me _ ?”  

Hunk looks put off. “Oh, you’re totally welcome for paying your bail, by the way.” He says, sunny demeanor starting to fade a little. “You know, that video really made seem nicer.”

Keith grimaces. “Excuse me? What video?” 

Hunk pouts slightly. “Oh shoot, you really don’t know?” 

“I’ve been in a jail cell for two days.” Keith growls. 

Hunk sighs, appearing to be tired. “Right. Look, long story short, your ‘good samaritan’ act got the attention of the masses.” 

Keith blinks at him, still scowling. The past three days have literally made no sense to him. “In English, please?” 

Hunk leans closer to him, cupping his hands around his mouth in emphasis. “ _ Your. Video. Went. Viral.”  _ He says, a little condescendingly. “The video of you standing up for that kid. You know, the fight you just had? It’s got almost 400K views and it’s only been 48 hours. You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you. _ ”  _

Shit. He knew he heard cameras going off for this reason in particular, but he never thought anything would actually happen. Oh man, if that video has been seen by a ton of people then he is definitely not getting his job back, or keeping it, for that matter. He is the last person this should be happening to. What a joke. “Okay?” He says, unsure of what to do with the information. He’s not used to talking to this many strangers in one day. It’s very uncomfortable for him. “So what the hell does  _ Lance Martinez _ want with me?” 

Hunk grins broadly at him. “Well, I’m glad you asked!” He says in an exaggerated, corny voice. Then he levels Keith with a much more earnest look. “See the thing is, Keith...we want you on the show.” Hunk’s expression doesn’t falter. “Like...this week.” 

Keith’s scowl actually leaves his face hurting. He snorts. What a typical Hollywood move. Approach the subject as he gets out of jail! That’ll go well, for sure! “No  _ fucking way _ .” 

Hunk looks slightly shocked. “Excuse me?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Uh.” Hunk frowns, a mixture of confusion and anger making its way onto his face. “I’m confused. You’re saying  _ no _ ?” 

“That’s right.” 

“You know you’d be on TV, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Anyone else in LA would kill for this offer.” Hunk looks irritated. “Lance just wants to talk to you about what it’s like to be an internet sensation. It’ll be good press for you.” 

“I don’t want good press. Didn’t protect that kid for press.” 

Hunk frowns. “That’s not what I--”

“Put me on that show when I’m dead.” Keith says, admittedly a little dramatically. But his loathing for Lance fucking Martinez burns deep. He can’t help it. Of all the opportunities for fame, this is the one that comes knocking? Pathetic. He pushes past Hunk and walks out into the open road. This entire day has been bizzare and he just wants to go home. For once, he’s so exhausted that he’d take sitting in the stale air of his apartment over this craziness.  

“Hey, woah, hold up!” Hunk calls from behind him. 

Keith throws a cold look over his shoulder. “I’ll find another ride home.” 

“I just paid your  _ bail _ ! Show a little mercy.” Hunk shouts, a little desperately. It sounds like a last resort. 

Keith slows to a stop, and...

_ Dammit _ ...he’s right. 

Keith carefully turns back around, grinding his teeth angrily. He takes a shaky sigh, glancing at Hunk. “There are literally a  _ million _ other people who could be on the show. Can’t you just let this go?” He pleads. “There’s a new internet sensation every hour.” 

Hunk shakes his head. “I...I’m just following orders.” He says, resigned. “And Lance didn’t ask for a token internet sensation.” Hunk shrugs. “He asked for  _ you _ .” 

  
  


><><><><><

  
  


It’s not that Keith wanted to say yes. In fact, the thought of saying yes actually summoned vomit into the back of this throat and made him want to claw the skin off of his face.

The thing is, he would be in jail for a majority of the rest of his life if Hunk, or...  _Lance_ , rather, hadn’t bailed him out. And he doesn’t like being indebted to people. He hates feeling like he owes people things.

But he also just lost his job. He isn’t really qualified to do anything else. He has _nothing to_ _do_. And having _nothing_ to do...is _terrifying_. Keith can’t stomach it. Just the thought of rotting away in his apartment is enough to have him desperate for _any_ kind of distraction. And although he could write a list of a thousand things he’d rather do than be interrogated on that stupid, meaningless _trash_ talk show with that superficial dickhead...he’s never been one to make lists. 

Maybe Shiro will see it and finally feel proud of him. 

So, fuck it.

He says yes. 

And he knows he’ll hate every second of it, and himself, but he says yes. 

It only dawns on him as he sits in the passenger seat of Hunk’s car-- not his favorite, by the way, he’s stolen better-- and Hunk starts walking him through all of the necessary things to be done before the show airs. And Keith feels his soul dying with every word that comes out of Hunk’s mouth, because this whole thing is so out of character for him and why did he  _ possibly _ think this was a good idea? 

“The show will air on Thursday morning.” Hunk explains. It sounds automated, like he’s given the spiel to every person who has ever been on the show. “Usually showtime is around 9AM, but you have to get there a couple hours earlier. Let’s say, maybe around six. Show up with a clean face. Don’t put on any makeup you normally wear--” Hunk glances at Keith rough, unamused face. “--right...well then I guess, don’t worry about that. Uh…” He gazes at the open road in concentration, like he is trying to remember the rest of his normal instructions. “Lance will be in hair and makeup at around seven thirty, but we will still need you there early to walk you through your cues and such. Also, it’s always nice to be prepared.” Hunk sends him a smile that Keith does not reciprocate. “I will likely call you tomorrow with more last minute info, but I will send you an email with the address and the number of the studio. Don’t worry about driving--we’ll have a limo pick you up.” 

Keith snorts. “Lucky me.” 

“There will be complimentary drinks.” Hunk offers, like he’s desperate to get a smile out of Keith. 

“I don’t drink.” Keith says emotionlessly, turning his head to study the trees whizzing past them outside. 

Hunk clears his throat. “Right, right. Well, there’s always a snack mix in there too.” 

“I can’t just take the subway or something?” 

“It’s custom. I can’t bend the rules for you. Now stop complaining, would you? You’re a free man now.” 

Keith sighs. “Mmhm.” He mumbles. Truly, he knows that deep down he feels grateful to be out of that jail cell. But if the alternative is being on a show with Satan himself, Keith isn’t so sure what he’s gotten himself into. And he doesn’t want to give anyone involved with Lance any kind of satisfaction. It would go against everything he ever believed in. 

As they begin to slow to a stop in front of Keith’s apartment building, Hunk’s eyes widen slightly. “Wait, wait.” He says, shaking his head. “You live in  _ this _ building?” 

Keith frowns. “What, not what you were expecting?” 

“No. I-I mean--” Hunk gazes up at the tall glass windows. “Seems a little much.” 

“Too fancy for me?” 

“Well….maybe?” Hunk replies sheepishly. “Like, how?” 

Keith smirks. “I guess I’m the fancy kind of criminal.” 

Hunk levels him with a slightly uncomfortable look. “...Right.” He says. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you Thursday.” 

Keith hums, climbing out of the car. “Yup.” He says. “Guess so.” 

The door slams behind him and Hunk drives away, making it a point to rev his engine as he does so. Keith fights the urge to roll his eyes; that engine is nothing compared to the ones he’s heard before. 

Sighing, he saunters back into his apartment, feeling the aching and lack of sleep all the way down to his bones. He breathes in the bougie, floral, perfumey smell of his lobby and it actually makes him feel much happier than he thought it would. He’s not sure how he continuously gets away with doing the stupid shit that he does, but this time around was the closest he came to destroying the rest of his life. He feels oddly grateful to be standing in the midst of the privileged, overly done decorations in his apartment building. Because as much as it annoys him, it also beats spending the rest of his life rotting in jail. So really, it’s not  _ too _ bad. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Sighing in dread, he fishes it out. 

 

**Rolo**

 

_ Sorry, man, You know the drill.  _

 

The text is understandable. He was expecting it. Still hurts like a bitch, losing something he loved so much. He tries not to let himself panic--it was a match made in heaven and he doubts he’ll ever find anything else like it. The numbness swirls in the air around him, threatening and daunting. It only gives him a short window of time to find a replacement. But he needs to handle one thing at a time. 

He swallows, feeling defeated, and absentmindedly opens his Facebook app. He almost trips headfirst into the elevator when the red number of notifications pops up in the corner of his screen. Because as somebody who only gets one notification every two months, it’s a little shocking to see the number  _ 467  _ just sitting casually in the tiny red box. 

Keith stares at it, eyes wide. What the  _ fuck _ ? With a shaking hand, he clicks the small globe, truly not knowing what the hell to expect. 

The first thing he sees is about forty names he doesn’t recognize, all of whom apparently wrote on his timeline. He barely even knows what that  _ means _ , so he decides to ignore it and instead focus on the notification that says he was tagged in an article. He clicks on it. 

The headline reads,  **“HANDSOME STRANGER BECOMES SMALL TOWN HERO** ”. Keith blinks a couple of times, in a daze. The picture below the headline is unmistakably  _ him _ \--his shaggy black hair and gray leather jacket. The gap in his left eyebrow. He is glaring at something past the camera in complete rage, eyes burning. 

Jeez. He didn’t realize he looked so angry. 

The small boy stands behind him, eyes wide and afraid. Keith studies him in the picture, something like sympathy filling his chest. He wonders was repercussions that boy is facing from all of this. 

Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, Keith somehow makes it to his timeline. It is littered with messages from absolute strangers. 

 

 **Cindy Kyle** _you are so brave! Not many people would have done what you did! Bless you!_

 

**Kevin Smith** _ Way to go, man. You really let them have it _

 

Keith’s heart starts beating rapidly in a way that he can only describe as terror. How the fuck do all of these people know his  _ name _ ? How did they find all of his social media so quickly? Where are they getting their information from? The breach of privacy likely goes much deeper than this and he feels the overwhelming urge to hide. Being in the spotlight is not his specialty, especially when he wasn’t at all prepared for it. He feels incredibly violated. When he gets to his apartment door, he bursts inside and makes a beeline for his room.  

Burrowing himself under the covers, even though he desperately needs to shower, Keith continues looking through is notifications. There are so many articles featuring his name and that same angry picture that he loses track. His hands never stop shaking as he scrolls, and scrolls, and scrolls. 

 

**Chris Katowski** _ Dude your left hook is killer. Get ‘em  _

 

**Shannon L.** _ I’d take  _ him _ out to dinner _

 

**Shireen** _ so nice to see someone standing up for a stranger! Gives me hope that this world isn’t doomed to shit  _

 

**Kaitlyn Roy** _ omg he is so hot. Is anyone seeing how hot he is? Hot and would fight for you! I’m into it  _

 

**Rebecca M.** _ I could eat that boy for dessert. _

 

Keith flushes, scowling. He has never even bothered with his physical appearance. He doesn’t know what the fuck these people are talking about. They’re all crazy. All he did was punch a guy. 

But anti-bullying forms and websites all across the internet have a featured story about him. There are apparently controversies, too. Like  **“WHY THE HERO WAS WRONG: Glorifying Violence”** .

Keith gets more and more upset the more he reads. He always knew there was an intrinsic reason, somewhere within him, that he hated LA so much. And it’s because he hates  _ this _ . He hates  _ fame-- _ the fleeting stupidity of it. He hates that people pretend to give a shit. And he  _ hates _ being the subject of gossip. 

Which is why by the time he reaches a small video posted by none other than  _ Lance Martinez _ himself, his blood is close to boiling over. He clenches his phone dangerously tight, almost cracking it out of anger, as Lance’s smug face appears on his screen. He appears to be in an interview--which doesn’t make any sense to Keith. What kind of talk show wants to interview the host of another talk show? In any case, seeing the tan bean pole almost puts Keith over the edge. 

“Hello, all!” The host, a woman with curly black hair and way too much plastic surgery, greets the audience. “We have Lance Martinez here with a special message about his show this week! So, Lance, what’s with all the excitement?”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. 

Lance laughs. “Well, Vanessa. You wouldn’t  _ believe _ who agreed to be on my show this Thursday.” 

“The anticipation is killing us!” The host, Vanessa, says in a corny voice. “Who  _ is _ it?” 

Lance grins and his teeth look almost fluorescent against his dark skin.  _ So _ fluorescent that there is no way it’s natural. He runs a hand through his styled hair, somehow not destroying it. “Hmmm, well I’ll give you a hint. He’s drop dead  _ gorgeous _ .” 

Keith bites down even harder. 

“Oh, man. That could be anyone!” 

“True, true.” Lance says smugly. “But very few people could be this gorgeous, and  _ still _ throw that good of a punch.”  

Keith’s cheek stings as his teeth dig deeper. 

A cheer rings throughout the audience as Keith’s face--the same picture he’s seen hundreds of times today-- appears on the screen behind Lance’s big head. “ _ That’s _ the one.” He says in a cocky tone as he looks back at the picture, as if Keith’s existence on this earth was his doing. The crowd cheers even louder at the sight of it and Keith wrinkles his nose, feeling the urge to vomit. 

“My, my, look at that  _ face _ !” Vanessa says. “That is one attractive boy!” 

Keith tastes blood in his mouth. 

“ _ And _ he’s a hero.” Lance adds. “Check it out.” He points up to the screen with an infuriating smirk on his face and the video starts playing. The video that, apparently, has gone viral. Keith grimaces as soon as he sees his own snarling face on the screen and chucks his phone across the room. It clatters against the wall but the video continues playing. He covers his head with his pillow but he can still hear the annoying voices after the fact. 

“Pretty  _ and _ strong?” Vanessa says suggestively. “Sounds like your type, Martinez.” 

“You  _ bet _ , darlin’.” Lance answers back. “He’s got it all.”  

Keith groans angrily into his pillow, rolling his eyes. 

Maybe it isn’t too late to cancel. 

  
  


><><><><><

  
  
  


According to a very disgruntled message from Hunk; it is, in fact, too late to cancel. 

Which is how Keith finds himself sitting in a limo that smells like new leather and freshly sprayed cologne, staring at the sunrise out the tinted window because it’s the asscrack of dawn. He was told to dress himself, so he decided on the most basic outfit possible to avoid bringing any more attention to himself; a black, long sleeved shirt and dark gray jeans with small rips at the knees. He got those rips by crawling under a barbed wire fence a few years ago, but nobody has to know that. For all they know, it was just a chic fashion choice. 

The only thing making any of this okay is the frantic, nervous beating of Keith’s heart. The blood rushing through his veins. He finds comfort in the blatant discomfort of the situation. The familiar feeling that he is, in fact, still alive. That his body is working and his brain is clear. He snakes a hand into his pocket and grips at the small, tooth keychain, relieved to find it in it’s regular spot. 

Being on national television may not be his ideal adrenaline fix, but it’s better than nothing. And without his regularly scheduled criminal activity, he’s sort of just grasping at straws.

He’s not sure how he’s going to see Lance Martinez, in the flesh, and not kick him in the balls. It’s something he really, really wants to do. Whenever he pictures meeting Lance for the first time, he fantasizes about harming him in some kind of physical way. He just feels like that stupid, cocky grin needs to be punched in. He can’t stand the phony narcissism. But he knows he’s going to have to keep it together. He doesn’t want to end up in jail again, after all. 

The limo stops in front of a tall, extravagantly designed building overlooking the Hollywood sign--adorned with floor to ceiling windows and mattes and metals. Keith rolls his eyes. Typical. 

He is escorted into the elevator by a man who he could very easily beat in a fight, so he doesn’t really know why he should feel very protected. The elevator ride is actually dreadfully long, and by the time Keith makes it to the 32nd floor of the building he had already talked himself out of it three times. 

He steps out into an open, modern looking foyer that branches off into multiple hallways. Feeling lost, he follows close behind the man escorting him, who thankfully hasn’t said one word to him since they met. They weave through multiple hallways, doorways, elevators and walls until the space opens up again. Keith recognizes the studio--the familiar backdrop of Lance’s stupid, idiotic show. The blinding, face blurring lights and the large, blue cushion chairs. His stomach twists, suddenly and stupidly realizing that it’s a  _ talk _ show. Which requires  _ talking _ . 

Which…

“Hey, you made it!” Hunk’s voice comes from somewhere behind him and Keith feels some version of bizarre relief at the sight of him. He’s only known Hunk for twenty four hours but it’s still nice to see a familiar face in such a...strange environment. 

“Hey.” Keith says nervously. “Yeah. I’m here.” 

“Cool! Follow me to your dressing room and we’ll get you into makeup.” He gives Keith a onceover. “Yeah, also we may change that outfit too.” 

Keith scowls, looking down at himself. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” He says defensively. “You told me to dress myself.” 

Hunk looks hesitant. “Right…” He says, then shrugs sheepishly. “Welcome to show business?” He turns around, shouting across the room. “Allura! We need you in hair and makeup!”

And then Keith is being urgently dragged away by two surprisingly strong arms. Before he knows it, he is tugged into a small dressing room and staring at himself in a vanity mirror, surrounded by blinding lights. There is a woman behind him, studying his face intently in the mirror. She has deep skin and long, platinum blonde-ish hair. It looks almost...silver. A golden, shimmering dress hugs her body, and her makeup, which features dramatic pops of neon purple and blue, decorates the high points of her face. Keith feels a little shocked--he’s never seen anyone who looks like that. She’s almost terrifyingly pretty. Her teal eyes scan over his reflection scrutinizingly. Then her face melts into an impressed smile.    
“You have such a unique face.” She says, sounding excited. She surprisingly sports a thick, English accent. “This is going to be so fun.” 

Keith swallows. “Excuse me?” 

“I didn’t mean it in a weird way. It’s just that you have a lot to work with! Oh--I’m Allura, by the way.” She awkwardly sticks a tan, delicate hand in Keith’s face from behind him. “Hair and makeup. Wardrobe. You know the drill. It’s truly a pleasure.”

Keith takes her hand and shakes it, frowning slightly. “You do Lance’s makeup?” 

“I do! Have for three years now. Don’t get me wrong, he has a lot to work with too. But I have learned the ins and outs of that boy’s face. Not much experimenting left to do. Beautiful bone structure, but everything tends to get monotonous if you do it enough. Don’t you think?” 

Keith blinks rapidly at his reflection, stunned by the sudden outpour of words. “Uh...” 

Allura lets out a melodic laugh. “It’s fine, you don’t have to answer. This stuff doesn't quite seem like your cup of tea.” She brushes Keith’s bangs out of his face, tilting his head to the side a little. Testing something out that Keith doesn’t understand. 

“Yeah I…” Keith furrows his brow, clearly at a loss. “I don’t...wear makeup.” 

Allura smirks at his reflection. “Well, get ready for that to change.” 

As Allura gets to work doing god-knows-what to Keith’s face, he can’t help but let his mind drift to Shiro; just how much Shiro would love to have an experience like this. To go behind the scenes of a show and study the equipment, the moving parts and the environment and how everything works together. He feels a small tug in his chest. Keith really isn’t worthy of this--he didn’t do anything to be here other than punch a defenseless teenager in the face. Shiro would have given everything. 

“Do you want me to fill in your eyebrow?” 

This snaps Keith back to reality. “Huh?” 

“Your brow. There is a small gap in the left one. Would you like me to fill it? I think it adds to your look. But some people are particular about their brows.” She snorts. “Like Lance.” 

Keith honestly feels like she is speaking in a different language. “Fill it in? Like...with hair?” 

She lets out an amused sigh. “I’ll leave it.” She decides. Then, in a much kinder, genuine voice, “I think it looks wonderful.” 

 

><><><><><

 

Allura leaves after an abnormally long amount of time. Keith never even thought it could take so long to get ready for anything, ever. When he looks in the mirror to observe what she did, he finds that he doesn’t even look that different. His skin is just less...skin like. There is a small coat of shiny lip balm on his lips and what he thinks is blush on the tops of his cheekbones. He studies his reflection quizzically. What an...odd experience.

He glances over at the small stool in the corner of the room, where a new outfit sits, folded and ready to be worn. Keith huffs frustratedly. Of course he wears the least threatening thing in his closet and they are still expecting him to change.  Allura had given him a onceover and picked an outfit in under forty five seconds. It’s technically her job, but Keith was beyond impressed anyway. He wonders if all stylists in LA are that expert at what they do--it would explain how everybody always seems to look good all the time. 

He slips off his shirt and his pants, throwing them into a messy pile in the side of the room. He catches a glimpse of his naked torso in the mirror and sees the small, black, lion tattoo right underneath his collarbone. He got it a month after his father passed away, in memory of his story. Keith really thought that he’d get used to seeing it by now. It’s been years since he got it. But every time he sees it, it still leaves a sad, heavy stirring his his gut. 

He takes a deep breath. 

Suddenly, the door bursts wide open. Keith yelps as he attempts to scramble for anything to cover himself up, but fails miserably. When he turns around in his almost-naked glory,  _ Lance fucking Martinez _ is standing in the doorway. 

Keith doesn’t really know what he was expecting; but it definitely  _ wasn’t _ for Lance to look just as flawless in real life as he does on screen. Keith can clearly see that the boy is wearing makeup--his skin almost appears airbrushed and he has a startlingly glittery highlighter on his cheekbones. His hair is gelled into its classic style--out of his face. And when he smiles, Keith can see the blindingly white teeth against the probably fake tan. He can see the abnormally bright blue of Lance’s eyes; probably colored contacts. Everything fake, from head to toe. And the worst,  _ worst _ part of the Lance’s entire appearance is his height-- because Keith didn’t even begin to anticipate Lance having any inches on him. But as Lance casually leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, Keith realizes, in horror, that he is much taller than he looks on tv.

Keith jumps at the sight of him and immediately grits his teeth, managing to grab his black shirt from the floor, bunching it close to his chest. Lance is looking at him with amused, glinting eyes, and for a moment Keith is so frustrated that he can’t even register what is happening. “What the  _ fuck _ ?” He shouts, voice cracking. “Don’t you  _ knock _ ?” 

Lance grins, stalking confidently into the room and letting the door shut behind him. He lets out a considering hum. “Well, if I knocked I would’ve missed out on seeing  _ this _ .” He says, gesturing smugly at Keith’s shirtless body. “And that would’ve been a shame. Right?” He has a mischievous glint in his eye as he says it that makes Keith’s blood begin to boil. He wants to roll his eyes so hard that they fall out of his head. Lance is obnoxious in real life, too. It honestly isn’t that big of a surprise. Refraining from inflicting bodily harm is going to be a lot harder than he initially thought. 

“It’s a little early to be laying it on so thick, don’t you think?” Keith deadpans, keeping his voice empty. “There aren’t any cameras in here so you can drop the act.” 

“Wow.  _ Sassy _ .” Lance says, whistling appreciatively. “Just went for it.” His broad grin remains on his face, unphased. “No wonder you go around punching people.” 

Keith grips his t-shirt until he feels his nails digging through it. “Why did you come in here?” He asks angrily. “Don’t you have shit to do?” 

“I came in here to  _ introduce _ myself.” Lance says, pushing himself off of the wall and walking towards Keith. His voice is cool and collected--quite the opposite of the cracking mess Keith is sporting. “And to meet the guest of honor, of course. The hero behind it all. Oh, oh! Get this. I was thinking of naming the segment ‘Unmasking the Local Hero’.” He spreads a hand across the air in cheesy presentation. “Do you think people would be into it? Because I totally do.” 

Just as Keith suspected, Lance really doesn’t spend any time with his guests before they film the show. What a load of bullshit. Lance holds out a hand to Keith, who is still not even close to being dressed. “Lance Martinez.” He says, as if the entire world doesn’t already fucking know. “The one and only.” And then he  _ winks _ , which only makes things ten times worse. “Thanks for bein’ on the show.”

Keith glances down at his hand and chooses to ignore it. He really should play nice. This is the only time in his entire life he will ever be speaking to this boy, so he may as well not start any drama. But when he opens his mouth, he realizes it’s already too late. 

“Well  _ Lance _ , I’m pretty sure I have about fifteen minutes before I’m obligated to deal with you.” He snaps. “Let me get dressed.” 

Lance’s face doesn’t even  _ move _ at the comment. Not even one twitch out of character. He continues to smirk down at him. “Hey, I’m not stopping you.” 

Keith scowls. What a douche. “Get.  _ out _ .” 

“You know, being gorgeous isn’t a one way ticket to being an asshole.” Lance says, but his voice is light, like he isn’t affected by Keith at all. “This is still  _ technically _ my turf, despite how bewitching you may be.” His smile widens to punctuate the end of the sentence. 

“Do you always ambush your guests in their dressing rooms, Starboy? Or am I just blessed?” Keith asks sarcastically. 

Lance lets out a tired sigh. “You know, for an American Hero, you’re a real stick in the mud.” He says, taking a few calculated steps away from Keith. His smirk continues to linger. “But to answer your question--yes. You  _ are _ blessed.” 

Keith actually growls. “ _ Out _ .”

A careless shrug. “Alrighty. Just be out in ten minutes. Don’t forget to see the director for a mic pack.” He turns around and looks Keith over one more time, not even trying to be subtle. “See you on the flip side.” He says in a corny voice, and then he winks  _ again _ . Keith feels like barfing. 

He eyes the window, debating an escape route. Scaling the side of a building isn’t something he hasn’t done before, and it’s just the fix he needs right now. This room is starting to get stuffy and the lights are making his vision fuzzy and he needs the fresh air. The dangerous drop below him. 

He thinks of Shiro, watching the news and seeing Keith scaling the side of a building in Hollywood. He sighs defeatedly. Maybe not the best idea. 

He can hear a laugh muffled through from the other side of the door. It distinctly sounds like Lance’s; loud and obnoxious and most likely fake. Keith wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes for what is probably the fiftieth time. 

He wonders how anyone in this studio can even  _ deal _ with that insufferable asshole. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Bugatti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith needs a distraction and Lance makes it way too easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my neighbors were having really loud sex while I wrote this chapter so im sorry if it's jumbled i was very irritated and distracted haha 
> 
> CHAPTER WARNING--Keith has a bit of an episode, borderline panic attack. There aren't any suicidal notions but he does end up in a bit of a dangerous/compromising position due to his need for "danger" so please stay away if this is something that will make you feel icky. Scene beings with "He feels weak." and ends with "Strangely content with his fix." 
> 
> also due to my failure to be an eloquent and comprehensible writer i feel the need to clarify that lance knows keith has done some shit (punched a teenager, stole some stuff) but he doesn't know anything specific about the car theft circuit or what keith does/did for a living or anything like that 
> 
> love <3

Keith feels like it’s a very cliche thing to say “the lights are blinding” when on set. But seriously? The lights are  _ blinding _ . He vaguely hears Lance’s loud voice screeching his name before he is exposed to an audience of cheering people, walking onto the stage in a pleasurable daze that he associates only with adrenaline. 

At least it would be pleasurable, if he wasn’t blasted by stage lights the moment he attempted to look into the audience. He squints angirly and then purses his lips, turning his attention away from the audience. Lance is standing, center stage, with a wide, charming grin on his stupidly shimmery face. 

“ _ There _ he is!” He says in Keith’s direction, clapping along with the audience. In his posture portrays an ease and confidence that makes Keith feel a bit like a robot, all stiff jointed and nervous. He watches as Lance holds out a hand to him and this time he actually shakes it, because the lights are beating down on him and the cameras are probably trained on his face. He only realizes how hot and sweaty his hand is when it comes into contact with Lance’s cool, dry one. But Lance doesn’t seem phased. He hold out an arm and gestures for Keith to sit down across from him. Keith sinks into the fluffy blue chair, a little uncomfortable. And when the cheering dies down, He can’t hear anything but his own heart rate, roaring in his ears. 

Lance finally takes a seat across from him. He turns to the camera. “Good morning, everyone! How’s everybody doing today?” The crowd lets out a collective ‘whooping’ noise in response. “Welcome to Blue Mornings--I’m your host, Lance Martinez, and today we have something a  _ little _ different than usual to share with you all. I’m sure you all recognize  _ this _ face!” He exclaims, actually sounding a little excited as he smiles at Keith. “An internet sensation? On  _ my _ show? I’m turning into Ellen Degeneres over here!” Another long cheer with some laughing thrown in. “That’s right, folks--Keith Kogane, aka the  _ ‘Handsome _ Small Town Hero’, has joined us on the show today!”  

Keith wants to sink into this chair until he disappears completely. This was a mistake. Backtrack. Backtrack. Abort. Retreat.

“Hello, hello!” Lance says boisterously, now looking at him.  _ God _ , Keith wants to punch him. The urge is almost overwhelming. “Welcome to my show!”

Keith just nods curtly, before promptly realizing he needs to say something. What do people usually say here? He’s usually so busy mentally stabbing Lance while he watches that he never pays enough attention. “Thanks...for having me?” He says gruffly. It doesn’t come out as kind as he intended. 

The crowd, for some reason, likes this response, and cheers anyway. Keith stops himself from rolling his eyes. Absolutely ridiculous. 

“So, Keith.” Lance inquires, “I bet it’s weird to wake up one morning and see your face all over the internet!” 

Keith hums. A simple enough question. “It was...unexpected.” He says, voice a little emotionless.  _ I threw my phone against the wall upon seeing your face _ . Maybe he shouldn’t say that. 

“Right, right, of course.” Lance replies easily. It makes Keith irrationally angry how he makes talking seem so effortless. “But you seem to have won over the hearts of a lot of people.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Lance jumps right onto the next thing. “Is this something you do a lot, then? Are you the superman of this city, just hiding in plain sight?” 

Keith frowns slightly. “Not really.” 

“Because I think you’d make a great superman.” Lance says suggestively. The crowd cheers. Keith tries to control the frown blooming across him face. Lance sends him an easy smile. “Do you think it could have been a right place, right time kind of deal?” 

Keith shrugs. He finds that he strangely feels the need to talk about what happened, and he can’t even pinpoint why. He wonders if it’s just Lance being good at his job--but that’s absurd. Lance is a phony. He always has been. “I mean, there were a bunch of other people there too.” Keith says, a little defensively. “They were technically in the right place at the right time.” 

Lance whistles, sounding impressed. “Wow, that was a lot of words! Didn’t know you were capable of saying so much.” The crowd laughs. Keith scowls. “So what are you implying, exactly?” 

“That anybody could have done something but they didn’t.” Keith says flatly. “They just filmed me.” 

“Well, yeah, but look where it got you!” Lance replies with a cheesy grin. The urge to punch him returns. 

Keith shrugs non committedly, not trusting whatever will come out of his mouth. 

“Hm, you’re a fun one, aren’t you?” Lance teases, which just makes Keith scowl even more. The crowd chuckles again, clearly entertained by Keith’s coldness--which definitely wasn’t his intention. 

“Nobody told me I had to be fun.” Keith says grumpily. 

“You don’t, you don’t.” Lance says back with a chuckle. “Luckily, I’m enough fun for both of us. So, Keith, tell us what went through your mind that day. What did you think when you saw that poor kid being bullied?” 

Keith can feel the frown, still tugging at his lips. “He didn’t deserve it.” 

“And your first thought was to help him?” 

“Wouldn’t that be anybody’s?” Keith snaps, starting to get frustrated. God, these questions are dumb.

“So is that something you do a lot, then?” 

“What?” 

“Refuse to take credit for doing something good?” 

Keith snorts. “I don’t need credit.” 

“Alright, alright, let’s take a few steps back.” Lance says, sounding amused in a way that baffles Keith. Because none of Keith’s answers are at all entertaining, but the crowd looks completely engaged either way. Keith starts to get a feeling this show isn’t really about the guest as much as it is about Lance.  

“Do you live here in LA?”

“Yes.” 

Lance hums. “Wow, so you were really far out! You got family in that town or something?” 

“I was there for work.” Keith bites, not thinking. 

“Cool! What do you do?” 

Shoot. 

He should’ve seen that coming.

He is pretty positive Lance knows that Keith is...guilty of certain things. He’s the one who bailed Keith out of jail, after all. But that doesn’t mean that everybody else has to know.

“Well…”  _ Say something, Keith. _ “Fighting crime, clearly.” 

Lance blinks at him as the crowd laughs. Keith finds himself smirking, personally proud of his save. 

“Was that a  _ joke _ ?” Lance asks with a laugh. “Oh my, ladies and gentleman, the statue is crumbling! Maybe he  _ is _ human after all.” 

Hm. Back to frowning again. 

“So tell me, Keith; at school, did you stand up to bullies too?” 

“Not really.” 

“I have a hard time believing that.” 

Keith shrugs. “Wasn’t any of my business.” 

“But clearly you’ve changed since then.” 

“I don’t think I have.” 

“Well, you stood up for a perfect stranger! No way  _ that _ could’ve been your business, right?”

And Keith...suddenly, doesn’t really know what to say. 

“Ah-ha,  _ silence _ .” Lance says smugly. “ _ That _ , my friends, is called self realization.” The crowd cheers. 

Keith snaps out of it and shakes his head hard, annoyed with the crowd. “ _ No _ , that’s not it.” He says defensively. “It was personal.” 

“ _ Oh _ ?” Lance sounds intrigued. “How so?” He asks, raising an infuriating eyebrow. 

_Shit_ , how did he get Keith to admit that? What the _hell_? Lance leans over in his seat, closer to Keith. There is a curious glint in his eye that actually makes him look genuinely interested.  “Could there be a _hidden_ _story_ behind this heroic act?” 

Keith grits his teeth. Fuck. “No, there isn’t”

“You just said it was personal.”

“Not what I meant.” 

“Hm. Interesting.” Lance leans back in his chair again, with a shit eating grin on his face. “I feel like there’s more to be said, Kogane.” The crowd is still cheering. 

“Well, you feel wrong.” 

Lance sighs. “Fair, fair.” He says, mercifully dropping it. 

Keith feels uneasiness in his gut. He doesn’t know why he is so surprised that he is being asked so many questions. It is a talk show, after all. But every question feels like a personal attack at him and he starts to feel the itching urge to get up and leave. 

“So how have your family and friends reacted to your sudden fame?” Lance asks. 

Keith swallows, thinking about Shiro, angry voice echoing through the jail phone. “They’re...you know.” He doesn’t know. “Shocked.” 

“I can imagine they’re watching right now.” 

Keith’s chest feels tight.  _ No...they’re not.  _ “Maybe.” 

“They’re probably proud of you! What you did really was commendable.” 

This fills Keith with heavy, inexplicable sadness. “I guess.” 

“Do you have anything you want to say to them?” Lance asks, gesturing to the camera in from of them. “Any shoutouts? Special requests?” 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keith knows that this is something Lance asks all of his guests. He know he’s heard it before. Which is what makes it so much  _ harder _ ...it hurts in a way Keith wasn’t expecting. Because all of the other people that Lance asks, probably have an answer. Because they have a normal career, and a family who supports them, and they’re just... _ normal _ . But Keith…

Why is Lance asking all these stupid  _ questions _ ? Who cares about Keith’s family? Why does it fucking  _ matter _ ? God, what a  _ douchebag _ . 

Keith stares at the daunting lense of the camera. Without even realizing it, he finds himself wondering if Shiro is watching. He knows that Shiro loves these kinds of talk shows--not openley, it’s kind of his guilty pleasure. But Keith never told him he was even going to be on Lance’s show, so there’s a very large chance he is nowhere near a TV right now and Keith’s mother has gone  _ completely _ off the grid and hasn’t even asked what he’s been up to for  _ months _ and Keith’s  _ father-- _

“Hello?” Lance’s annoying voice cuts in. “You still there?” There is a smile in his tone. 

Keith blinks back at him, looking away from the lense and suddenly feeling a familiar buzzing numbness in his fingertips. What would his dad think if he saw him here? His father, who looked at him and thought of a  _ lion _ \--courageous and brave and self sacrificing. Keith is a  _ criminal _ who likes to get in fights. He was in jail a week ago. He even got  _ Shiro _ to stop talking to him. Shiro, who gave him countless second chances. He doesn’t feel like he did anything commendable. 

He doesn’t feel like a lion at all. His dad was wrong.

He feels weak. 

Is it….stuffy in here? The stage lights no longer feel hot--they just feel heavy and lukewarm, wrapping around him and weighing down on all of his limbs. The frying brightness mingles with his eyesight and fuzzy stars start spotting in his vision, clouding Lance’s face as he stares at it. He feels like everything is going in slow motion. “I…” 

He sees a flash of his father, lying still in a hospital bed. Fuzzy fluorescent lights. Buzzing silence. 

“I have to go.” He says, and it sounds distant. Like his mouth isn’t forming the words. 

Lance’s wide grin  _ finally _ falters, ever so slightly, for the first time since Keith has met him. “What?” 

But Keith is already getting up. His legs feel like jelly and his fingertips are completely numb. He charges towards the door and hears the audience murmuring from what feels like a million miles away. His heart thuds fast and slow at the same time and rings in his ears. He reaches into the pocket of the expensive black jeans Allura gave him and wraps his hand around his father’s keychain, pressing the point of the tooth into his numb fingertip as hard as he can and feeling nothing. It’s like his nightmares--being underwater. Ceasing to exist. Losing all feeling. 

He’s in in an elevator, somehow. 

Then he’s on the roof.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tugs at his hair, willing the numbness away. But it’s swallowing him. Engulfing him. He approaches the edge of the building, where a high, concrete wall stands tall, like it’s taunting him. It goes up to his chin, but it’s high enough to obstruct most of his view of the drop. He doesn’t know how high up he is. He growls and starts clawing his way up the wall.

His vision blurs and he’s suddenly back in the small hospital room. Rhythmic beeping, signaling a heart rate that doesn’t even matter anymore. Stale air and white walls and tiled floor and his father’s blank eyes, staring right through him--

A rush of frigid wind and the alarming sound of cars beeping suddenly snaps him back to reality. His heart thumps loudly in his chest and his blood roars with adrenaline and he looks down, noticing with shaking limbs that he has climbed to the top of the concrete fence, and is down sitting with his legs dangling off the edge of the building, staring at the busy streets which are tens of  _ thousands _ of feet below. His hands are shaking--he’s  _ very _ high up. All of the breath he has leaves his body in a rush as he stares down at the cars, feeling  _ terrified _ . Trembling. Lightheaded with the feeling of it. The crisp, cold air slaps his face awake and he  _ knows _ he’s still alive, startlingly so, but one wrong move, and he could literally--

“Keith!” A worried voice sounds from behind him but Keith doesn’t dare move. “ _ Keith _ !” 

He swallows hard and it gets stuck in his throat. “I-I--” he chokes out in a trembling voice, gripping the concrete edge harder with his freezing fingers and squeezing his eyes. He fucked up this time, for real. He needs to get a grip. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he tries to calm down. The numbness begins to fade, and so does the adrenaline--which just leaves him feeling warm and full.

Strangely content with his fix. 

The same voice shouts again. “I--I’m going to help you get down, okay?” Keith recognizes it as Hunk. He sounds scared. “Just don’t--Please be careful!” 

It’s not the first time Keith has sat on the edge of a tall building. But under these circumstances? It’s definitely much worse; considering he was just on TV five minutes ago. 

Slowly, and with immense care, he starts to twist his torso around. Then his legs swing over, shaking less and less the closer they get to solid ground. He sees Hunk now, standing hunched over and looking at him with wide, horrified eyes. 

“I’m not going to kill myself.” Keith says in a flat voice, because he doesn’t really know how else to explain this. Hunk nods slowly, but clearly doesn’t believe him. 

“Keith--” 

“I needed some air.” Keith says, fully aware that he sounds insane as he hops onto the solid concrete floor. “Sorry...about that.” 

Hunk still looks terrified. “W-why would you come out  _ here _ for air?” He shouts incredulously, starting to frown. “You scared the  _ shit _ out of me!” 

“I said sorry.” 

“What were you thinking? You could have died!” 

Keith swallows. Sounds like something Shiro has said to him a thousand times. So he just responds the same way he always did with Shiro. “Well yeah but...I didn’t.” 

The door at the far corner of the roof opens and Lance emerges, looking a little strange in the natural daylight. He looks around for a moment before settling his eyes on Hunk and Keith. Keith frowns slightly. He must have cut the show short. He the audience was probably pissed. He briefly wonders why Lance even bothered to come up here at all, with all the damage control he should be doing instead. He has places to be--none of which involve Keith and his breakdown. 

Lance walks over to them, and Keith can’t help but notice how loose he looks. Like nothing about this situation phased him. Like there wasn’t anything tense about what was going on. Keith is absolutely baffled, and simultaneously stunned by a wave of his  _ own _ rage-- does Lance seriously not have  _ any feelings _ at all? Is he that much of a Hollywood robot? That  _ corrupted _ ? That even when his own father died, he spoke with a stony, emotionless voice and didn’t even  _ care _ ? 

“You look like you feel better.” He says with an even smile as he approaches Keith. His eyes look empty. “You know, there were only ten minutes left of the show. You could’ve at least pretended to tolerate me until then. Ratings are going to plummet now.” 

Hunk winces a little at Lance’s blank smile. “Lance--” 

“Why did you even follow me up here?” Keith says, voice hollow. 

Lance shrugs. “Damage control isn’t really my thing. I let the crew take care of it.” He cocks his head to the side, scanning over Keith with a lifeless gaze. “Are you done crying now?” 

Hunk cringes again, much more pronounced this time, and Keith’s heart is thumping and now the  _ rage _ is taking over, quickly and unforgiving. He clenches his jaw. He knows that there are a few ways out of this. He could say it was a medical emergency, or an allergy, or he could apologize. 

But this stupid, empty  _ asshole _ of a human being has been grating on his nerves for years now, and Keith so angry at this entire situation and that fucked up smile and he’s about ready to explode because how is this  _ fair _ ? How is any of this fair? He is at the lowest point in his life and the only person around to catch him is his mortal enemy? 

So instead, he hears his voice shaking as he spits, “ _ Fuck _ you.” He glares at Lance’s unnaturally blue eyes. The expression in those eyes doesn’t change. Instead, Lance huffs a breath through his smile which has the audacity to sound like a laugh.  

“Eloquent.” He responds. 

“No, you don’t understand.” Keith says, taking a few steps towards Lance. “I  _ loathe _ you. I hate your stupid show, and you wear too much fucking  _ makeup _ .” 

“Keith…” Hunk says, in a warning tone. “Maybe we should all just--”

“So _excuse_ _me_ if I couldn’t handle one more minute of your arrogant, disgusting, _pathetic_ excuse for entertainment.” Keith continues. “I’m honestly surprised the audience even lasted that long!” His voice still wavering from a thousand different things. He wants to _break_ this boy. He wants to see Lance crumble. He wants to crack open that cocky, infuriating smile, which still remains plastered across Lance’s face, completely unmoving. 

“Have you ever considered being a poet?” Lance asks with a calm voice. “You really do have a way with words.” His smile widens a fraction. Keith actually  _ snarls _ . 

“What’s  _ with _ you?” He shouts, losing a sizable portion of his control as Lance continues to be virtually unaffected. “You think you actually deserve to have your own talk show? You don’t!” He’s right up in Lance’s face now, scowling so hard it physically hurts. 

Lance sighs cooly. “I’m good at what I do.” 

“No, you’re  _ not _ !” 

“You guys--” Hunk pleads, but Keith ignores him. Lance is still smiling, looking more smug with every passing second. 

“Look, Kogane,” Lance purrs it. Keith clenches his fists so hard that his fingernails might break skin. “You? Walking out on me? No reflection on my talent.” 

“ _ What _ talent?” Keith’s voice cracks. “ _ Talking _ to people?” He bites his tongues because  _ yes _ , that is a talent, but his brain is so clouded with anger now that he doesn't even care. Rage prickles hotly across his skin and Lance raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

“Well I sure am a lot better at it than you are, gorgeous.” Lance says easily. “It’s alright, lots of people have stage fright. Even seasoned criminals.”

And with that, Keith snaps, charging forward, ready to tackle Lance onto the floor and thumb his fucking  _ eyeballs _ out. He almost makes it, too, but Hunk jumps in front of him, acting as a shield. “Hey, hey!’ He shouts angrily. “I  _ will _ call security!” 

But Keith ignores Hunk and glares over his shoulder, eyes piercing into Lance. “You’re a fraud.” He bites harshly, squirming in Hunk’s grasp. 

Lance laughs humorlessly. “Fraud? How’s that?” 

Keith lurches forward but Hunk catches him, caging him in an extremely strong grip. “Don’t play dumb, you  _ know _ it,  just as much as everyone else does.” And Keith knows this is taking it too far. He really does, logically, know this isn’t worth it. But Lance’s blank eyes somehow reach a place in him that he doesn’t like to acknowledge. A dark place that he  _ hates _ , caged with padlocks and steel bars so he never has to open it.  

“Hmm, and what does everyone know?” Lance asks innocently.

“That you,” Keith huffs, “would be  _ nothing _ if it wasn’t for your father.” 

Hunk’s grip on him tightens, a little angirly. “ _ Enough _ .” He says, voice rough. “I’m taking you home.” And then Keith is being dragged away with purpose, anger clawing at his chest like flames. He squirms some more in Hunks grip but  _ jesus _ , this guy is strong. Makes Keith think that Hunk carries angry people away from Lance more often than not. He growls and twists his head back towards where Lance is standing, ready to have the last word; to drop one last bomb. 

Expecting to see the same blank eyes and cocky smile, Keith already has something horrible at the tip of his tongue. But when his eyes meet Lance’s, they aren’t blank at all. 

They aren’t fluorescent blue. 

They just look...sad. 

The moment lasts all of about three seconds before Hunk slams the door between them, leaving Lance out on the roof and dragging Keith down the stairwell. 

 

><><><><><

 

The next three days go by in such a blur that Keith doesn’t even realize he’s completely destroyed his apartment; that is, until his phone rings for the first time in 72 hours and scares the shit out of him. Staying locked up in his apartment while doing anything other than sleeping is the absolute worst thing he could possibly do, but his face is still plastered all over the internet, as well as loads of supposed gossip going around about why he walked out on Lance during the show. And as much as Keith adores conflict, something is telling him that this isn’t the kind of conflict he should want. So he locks himself in his apartment and waits for the proverbial storm to pass, making it a point not to check any social media or technology of any sort. That is, until he gets a call. 

The high pitched ringing seems to wake him up from whatever stupor he is in, and when he glances around his apartment it looks like a tornado just hit it. Overturned furniture, holes in the wall, broken glass. 

Jesus, he becomes a monster when he gets bored. 

He really needs a job. 

Sighing defeatedly, he answers the phone call.

“What.” He says flatly, as a form of greeting. He didn’t bother checking who it was.

“Keith? Are you okay?” Shiro’s voice sounds strained. “What the heck is going on over there? How did you get out of jail? Were you-- is that actually  _ you _ on TV with  _ Martinez _ ?”

Keith groans. “Hi, Shiro.” 

“Please tell me what is happening. I can’t just keep picking up these puzzle pieces and wondering if you’re okay.” Shiro still sounds as angry as he was the last two times they spoke, but Keith knows that a worried Shiro is usually even angrier than an angry Shiro. “All I’ve got is a video of you punching a teenager in the face, which has over 700,000 hits, by the way. And then you’re in  _ jail _ . And then you’re on  _ TV _ ?” 

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.” Keith mumbles, eyes a hole in his wall that looks like the exact size of his head. “Things have been…” 

Shiro takes a deep, exhausted breath, waiting for Keith to continue. But what could he possibly say? Things have been...Suffocating? Horrible? 

“Strange.” He says. 

“Obviously.” Shiro responds. 

“I was bailed out of jail by Lance’s manager. Apparently he wanted me on the show. Viral video, and all that.” 

“Oh, god.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you said  _ yes _ ?” 

Keith swallows. “I just…” This was the part he was dreading. “I….got fired. From, you know…” He sighs. “My...job.” He mumbles the last word, knowing that Shiro isn’t a huge fan of talking about it. 

Shiro snorts. “You got fired from being a criminal?” 

Keith scowls. “Looks like it.” 

“And then you became a star?” 

“Guess so.” 

Shiro hums. “Good. You’re better off.” 

“Whatever.” 

There is an awkward silence that stretches between them for a little bit. Keith knows that Shiro must be relieved. Even seeing Keith on TV with an asshole like Lance Martinez is better than Keith being a--

“Wait.” Keith says, brow furrowing. “You were watching the show?” 

A bit of static. Then, “Of course I was.” 

“Which means you saw…” 

“I saw you walk off the stage, yeah.” Shiro says softly. “Keith, you know I’m here if...like, no matter how angry I get, I need you to know that--” 

“I know, I know, you’re there for me.” Keith says quietly, sitting on his bed and the wincing when he finds shards of broken glass in it. How did those get there? Is that from a wine bottle? 

“I really think you’ll feel a little better about  _ everything _ if you just...talk to mom... She misses you.” 

Keith frowns. “I...can’t” He shakes his head.

“Keith…” 

“How did you even know I was going to be on Lance’s show, anyway?” Keith asks, changing the subject. He sighs with relief when Shiro takes the bait.

Shiro laughs a little nervously. “I mean...I follow Lance on everything.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Look, I know you hate him, but in terms of pop culture, he’s really on the mark.” 

“I’m going to barf.” 

“Keeping up with him is kind of like trend research, you know? Not that I’m...into that anymore but. You know. He’s basically a news reporter, in the field I was interested in. I honestly can’t believe you got to meet him.” Oh god, Shiro’s going to start freaking out now. Keith can tell. “In his  _ studio _ ! It’s crazy. I wish you could’ve taken pictures. I wonder what kind of equipment they use on set. Did you hear any orders from the director? I always--” 

“I hate Lance.” Keith says in a dull voice. 

Shiro laughs, and it sounds like  _ Shiro _ again. Like somehow all of the negativity weighing down on them at the beginning of the phone call has dissipated. “Of course you do. You’re  _ Keith _ . There is no universe that exists where you wouldn’t hate Lance.” 

Keith feels the corner of his lip quirk upwards at the thought of it. He ignores the flash of stormy blue eyes that suddenly assaults his mind. The split second on the roof where he actually saw some sort of reaction to the nasty things he said. But the picture fades as quickly as it appeared. “You’re definitely right about that.” Keith says. 

A loud knock on his door makes Keith nearly jump out of his skin. He glares at it, utterly confused. Who the fuck..? He glances around at his shithole mess of an apartment, feeling subtle, anxious fluttering in his stomach. He’s not fit for human contact right now. 

“Uh...Hey, Shiro, can I call you later?” 

“That depends. Are you doing something stupid?” 

“I’ll call you later.” Keith decides, hanging up and keeping his eyes on his front door. Another knock rings through the room and Keith startles. How did anyone get past his doorman? How did they know where Keith lived without buzzing in first? 

Keith swallows and inches towards the door, where another, much louder knock emanates. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Who is it?” He peers through the small peephole and sees a man in full mailman uniform--with the hat and everything. It’s been a while since he’s seen a mailman like that. He’s got large sunglasses covering a majority of his face, even though he is indoors (kind of a douche move) and he’s holding a small cardboard box. 

“Package.” Says a low voice, muffled through the door. 

Keith frowns further. “I didn’t order anything.” 

“Are you Keith Kogane?” 

Keith pauses. “...yes?” 

“Then this package is for you.” 

Keith studies the mailman through the small lense. “I just  _ told you _ I didn’t order anything.” He says, irritated. “Must be a misprint.” 

But then, through the peephole, Keith can see a small smile curl across the mailman's lips. And then a flash of... _ blindingly white teeth, _ which--

Wait...what the fuck--

“Of course you didn’t, gorgeous.” Keith knows that voice. Cocky and smooth. “But I’m hoping you’ll let me in anyway.”

Wait….is that--?

There’s no way it could be--That would be  _ crazy. _

It’s... _ Lance _ .

Lance  _ fucking Martinez _ is--

And he’s dressed as a fucking  _ mailman-- _

“What the  _ hell _ is going on?” Keith growls through the door, turning around frantically and eyeing his disaster of an apartment. He turns back to the door. “How the fuck do you know where I live?” 

“Research.” He doesn’t even need to look through the peephole to know Lance is grinning smugly. “You gonna let me in?” 

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Keith spits. “Did I not make myself clear on Thursday?” 

“Crystal.” 

“Then fuck  _ off _ , Lance.” Keith is fuming. “How did you even get past my doorman?” 

“Money is a powerful thing.” 

Keith gasps, yanking open the door and finally facing Lance. He glares furiously at the tan, airbrushed skin that no mailman could possibly possess. “You  _ bribed _ him?” He shouts.

“Could you, like, keep your voice down?” Lance replies with a casual smile. He doesn’t look worried at all. “And let me in?” He’s still got makeup on despite the obvious lack of cameras and stage lights. Keith can see the smallest dustings of powder and shimmer and even blush still sitting atop his skin. He must have just been somewhere very public. 

Keith just storms angrily into his disaster of an apartment, leaving the door open for Lance to follow him in. He has a feeling that Lance will never leave unless he gets what he wants. Which. Right. “What the hell do you want from me? Why are you here?” Keith asks angrily, glowering at Lance as he pads into the living room. 

The door shuts behind him. Lance takes off his glasses and glances around at the wreckage of Keith’s stir-craziness. He whistles. “Nice place you got here.” He says in a stale, sarcastic voice, obviously referring to the mess. There is something scrutinizing in his gaze that leaves an unsettling pit in Keith’s stomach. Keith clenches and unclenches his jaw, trying to control himself. Homicide probably isn’t what he needs on his record right now. 

“ _ Why. are. you. in my house?”  _ He yells bluntly, watching Lance take off his hat and ruffle his hair. It’s weird not to see it gelled back. It’s...fluffier than he thought it would be. “Wearing a  _ god awful  _ costume?” 

Lance snickers. “I’m  _ undercover _ , Kogane. Do you know how messy this would be if people saw me entering your apartment building? Just being smart.” A pause. “Although, people assuming that we are hooking up wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I mean, look at you.” 

Keith crosses his arms over his chest, incredibly irritated. “And  _ why _ are you entering my apartment building? I’m assuming it’s not to apologize.”

Lance laughs. It sounds cold. “No. And not to  _ forgive _ , either.” He says, voice empty. “You are not really my favorite person, despite your angelic hair.” 

“Well then what is it?” Keith bites back. And then for a moment, silence lingers between them. It feels a little daunting. Keith swallows, observing as Lance’s eyes drop to the hat in his hands. Almost like he’s....nervous? 

But then his expression snaps back to what it was before; blank, with a hollow smirk. “You have something of interest to me...” He says. “Other than, you know, you’re extreme, godlike good looks.” Lance glances back up at him and offers a small wink. Keith rolls his eyes, ready to charge out of the room. Then, what Lance said actually registers in his head after a moment and he stops himself. 

“Well, what is it?” He asks impatiently. 

Lance takes a couple steps closer to him and Keith takes a couple steps back, keeping space between them. “ _ What. do. you. want _ .” He asks through clenched teeth. 

“Your ankle.” Lance says plainly, like it’s obvious.  

Keith stills. “Excuse me?” 

“Show me your ankle.” Lance commands, in somewhat childish way. 

Why the fuck?

“No way. Get out of my apartment right now.”

“First of all, this barely constitutes as an apartment.” Lance says mockingly. “Don’t you have a cleaning service? This place is abysmal.” Keith hums angrily. “Look, Kogane. I’m risking a lot by being here.” His voice is back to the cool, collected slur that it was before. Like he really isn’t risking anything at all, but he just likes saying the words. “You show me your ankle, and I’ll walk out of here. We got a deal?” 

“Why the fuck do you want to see my ankle?” Keith asks, still not making the connection. 

“You have an...inspiring tattoo.” 

Keith balks. “What did you just say to me?” 

“Your ankle tattoo.” Lance clarifies. “I want to see it.” 

Keith’s face twists even further into a frown. He couldn’t be talking about….there’s no way he means...why would  _ Lance Martinez _ be interested in a tattoo from Keith’s former job? “No way.” 

“You don’t have to be this difficult, you know. I’m not the enemy.” Lance says teasingly, sounding very much like the enemy. 

“How do you even know about my tattoo?” 

“Saw it in the video.” 

“The  _ viral _ video?” 

Lance smiles. “That’s the one. There were some awkward camera angles that conveniently pointed towards your lower half. Oh, and then I saw it in real life. You know. When you were on my show?  _ After _ I bailed you out of jail?”  

“Why were you paying such close attention to my ankles? Sounds like you were looking for something.” 

“You’re ankles, like the rest of you, are irresistible, Kogane.” 

Keith wrinkles his nose. “You’re so full of shit.” 

“There’s that sass again. Lovely. So, ankle?” Lance says, specifically gesturing towards Keith’s left one. 

“Tell me why, first.” 

Something flashes across Lance’s empty eyes. It looks a little bit like irritation. Keith has to blink twice to process it. “Wow, you sure ask a lot of questions, don’t you? I think that’s enough.” He says through a smile. 

“I’m not showing you my ankle.” 

“Fine.” Lance says, sounding aloof. “Then just tell me what  _ inspired _ you to get that tattoo.” 

“ _ Why _ , Lance?” Keith yells, snapping.

Lance breathes out quickly through his nose, like he’s masking some kind of exhausted sigh. “It’s such a shame that you’re annoying, because you’re so  _ pretty _ .” He says, but there isn’t any bite behind his words. And then, “My father has the same tattoo, Kogane. I need to get a good look at it.” 

Keith pauses, blinking in absolute shock. He is completely taken aback by the response. 

That’s…

_ Anton Martinez? _ Stealing cars? Could that be a thing? There’s no way. Lance is obviously lying. This is a ploy. He’s trying to get Keith thrown back in jail somehow, because of what Keith said to him on the roof. There’s got to be some sort of ulterior motive. Anger bubbles and bubbles beneath Keith’s skin as he studies Lance’s  _ still _ unchanging expression.

There are a lot of things he wants to say. Like,  _ “that’s impossible” _ or _ “stop lying” _ or  _ “well then I guess your dad was a fucking criminal, too” _ but it doesn't feel right because the meaning of the tattoo is very, very private. Although Lance may know portions of Keith’s criminal history, he doesn’t know it’s a business. He has no idea what the tattoo means. 

The only thing that comes out of Keith’s mouth, full of anger and bitterness, is, “Had. You’re dad  _ had _ the same tattoo. He’s  _ dead _ , isn’t he?” 

And...shit. 

The silence falls on both of them, heavy and painful. 

It was a low blow. A low, dirty, disgusting blow. He officially took it too far. 

There is a split second where Lance’s face  _ finally _ falls. A split second where he flinches slightly. It’s barely noticeable, but it  _ definitely _ happens. And it wasn’t at all as satisfying as Keith thought it would be. It leaves him feeling a little cold. 

Lance’s smile returns with a vengeance, just as empty as before. But this time there is a spark of something in his eyes. “You don’t like me.” He states.

Keith clears his throat slightly, starting to feel a little guilty. “You said I was crystal clear before. You  _ know _ I don’t like you.” 

Lance hums. “Well, I don’t like you either.” He says through his smirk. “So. Just show me your ankle. And I’ll leave.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Please.” 

Keith eyes him wearily, heart rate picking up as Lance watches him. To pick up on a detail as small as an ankle tattoo is a little insane. Keith feels like there is more to this story, but it’s not his story to know anything about. And he really,  _ really _ shouldn’t care. 

Sighing in defeat, he lifts his left pant leg, revealing the tattoo that Rolo so graciously forced him to get. The minute it is in view, Lance crouches down to get a closer look. 

The air is tense and silent for a very, very long time. 

Keith looks down after an awkward couple of minutes and sees Lance taking out his phone. 

“I’m going to take a picture.” Lance says cooly. 

Keith scowls. Even though there is no way a majority of people would recognize the tattoo, he still feels uneasy with Lance having a picture of it on his phone. “That’s a total invasion of privacy.” 

“It’s the price of fame, Kogane. There’s no such thing as privacy.” 

If that’s Lance’s mindset, it would make a lot of sense. “Why do you need a picture?” Keith snaps. “So I have a tattoo that is similar to one your dad had, big deal.” 

Lance finally stands up and levels his gaze with Keith’s. He chuckles lightly, but it sounds a little sad. “Big deal to me.” 

“I don’t understand. What are you even planning on doing with it?” 

“None of your business.” He replies with a casual tone. “Anyway. Thanks for making that twenty times more difficult than it needed to be. Really wanted to get this over with on the show but you walked out on me.” He sighs melodramatically. “Shot through the heart. Although I loved watching you walk away. Your ass is spectacular.” 

Keith ignores that last part. “Wait,  _ what _ ? You wanted to do this on  _ TV _ ?” 

“Look Kogane, being in a viral video is great and all, but I really only needed you for this.” He says, holding up his phone with a smirk. The phone which currently has about ten pictures of Keith’s ankle tattoo. 

“What? Are you kidding me?” 

“See? I told you, you made it twenty times more difficult than it needed to be. Now I’m in a head-to-toe polyester mailman uniform and I’ve made a new mortal enemy in a junkie’s apartment.” Lance smiles at him. 

Keith winces. “I’m  _ not _ a junkie. I’ve never done a drug in my life.” 

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Not the kind of junkie I was talking about.” He says. And Keith really wants to fight him on whatever the fuck that means, but he’s too busy being angry about the argument they were having before. 

“You bailed me out of  _ jail _ ?” Keith reasons. “For a picture of a  _ tattoo _ ?” He doesn’t feel nearly as offended as he probably should. Just confused. So fucking  _ confused _ . 

Lance scoffs. “Child’s play.” He says condescendingly. And Keith doesn’t even really understand what he is referring to. Then he is walking in the direction of the door, placing the mailman hat back on his head, like he was just picking up groceries and now the errand is over. But-- _ no _ . Keith isn’t letting him get away without some sort of explanation. His privacy was just violated,  _ again _ , for absolutely no reason and he’s so fed up with being treated this way. 

“Whatever you want to learn from that tattoo, you’ll never find out what it’s about.” Keith says, sounding very harsh. Because what is Lance trying to do, find out why his dad had certain tattoos? Find out what his dad was into when he was alive? What even is the fucking  _ point _ ? It’s such a waste of time. “It’s an extremely private matter. I doubt it’s the same one your dad had.” 

Lance turns around, looking offended that Keith would even attempt to speak to him as he was clearly in the process of leaving. “It’s a good thing none of this concerns you, then.” 

“No, you don’t understand. You will never find out. Trust me.” And he means it. He knows how under wraps the business is. “What are you even hoping to find?” 

Lance is studying him carefully, a hesitant expression seeping it’s way into his dead eyes. “A missing piece.” 

“Missing piece of what?” 

“This has  _ nothing _ to do with you, gorgeous.” Lance replies, smile officially faded from his face. 

Keith hums. “Oh, really? Because I thought there was ‘ _ no such thing as privacy’ _ , Lance.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “My own words used against me.” A small smirk. “That was cold, Kogane.” 

“Missing piece of  _ what _ ?” Keith asks again, at the edge of his patience. 

Lance's dead eyes search his face before answering. “My investigation.” 

Keith cocks his head to the side, officially caught off guard. “Your…excuse me?” 

Lance’s face is back to being expressionless. It shifts in and out of being human, but Keith can shockingly see the difference now. “That’s all you’re going to get from me, darlin’.” Lance says, turning towards the door again and putting his sunglasses back on. 

“You’re not leaving without telling me what’s going on.” Keith says, marching after him. “You have a picture of my tattoo on your phone, I deserve to know what it’s for.” 

Lance groans like Keith is the most annoying person in the entire world. He spins around, rolling his eyes dramatically, and It’s more emotion than Keith has ever seen Lance express since they met. “Look, if you  _ must _ know, I’m trying to find my dad.”  

He says in a light voice, like it isn’t a big deal. 

Keith raises an eyebrow, thoroughly shocked. That wasn’t at all what he was expecting. He’s...wait, “What? Like his  _ body _ ?” He asks crudely. “It’s probably long gone by now.” Lance flinches slightly. 

“No. My dad is alive.” He says. It sounds like a confession. 

Keith snorts. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“He is.” 

“That’s fucking  _ ridiculous _ .” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling unexpectedly angry at the delusional words. “There’s no way.” 

“I  _ told you _ this is none of your business.” Lance says, shrugging casually.  _ Still _ appearing to be unaffected by everything Keith says. “So, I’m going to go now. Although I  _ am _ loving this hate-sex chemistry we’ve got going on.” 

“Are you--what the fuck are you talking about?” Keith asks, far too overwhelmed with the situation. He realizes, a little disappointingly, that his heart rate is skyrocketing at the thought of Lance leaving without explaining himself. He absurdly feels like he wants  _ in _ on this--this psychotic craziness that Lance is sporting so calmly. He chooses to yet again ignore the poor attempt at flirting. “You  _ seriously _ think you’re dad is still alive?”  He asks incredulously, trying to make it sound as condescending as possible. Because this can’t be happening, there is no way he is standing across from Lance Martinez in his destroyed apartment talking about the possibility of  _ Anton Martinez _ still being alive. 

Lance adjusts his sunglasses, signalling that he’s ready to leave. “Yes.” He says it with so much conviction that Keith actually falters a little, thoroughly stunned, before regaining his ground. “And the only reason I’m telling you is because I know I’ll never see you again.” 

“Well, to me it just sounds like you aren’t used to things  _ not _ going your way.” Keith jabs. Another low blow. 

Lance remains unphased, as usual. “Hm. I don’t really  _ care _ what it sounds like.” He says, voice level. “All I know is something bad happened to him.” He states it like a fact. “And I bet it has something to do with your stupid tattoo.” And then Lance tips his hat, as his way of saying goodbye. “Well, Kogane,  _ hopefully _ we’ll never meet again.” He says cheerfully. “Thanks for the help. See you never.” Then he throws one last wink before leaving out the front door. 

It slams behind him and Keith hears his heartbeat, loud and shocked, in his ears. The sudden silence in his apartment again leaves an emptiness in his gut. 

What...the  _ fuck _ just happened. 

Is Lance  _ serious _ ? Is this all just one huge prank?

The one thing they had in common was the loss of their fathers, and somehow Lance still thinks he’s  _ above _ that? As if all the  _ common folk _ can lose their fathers but there’s  _ no way  _ that it could happen to him. He’s too special for that. So obviously there has got to be another explanation for why his father got on a plane and never returned. 

Keith understands denial being part of the mourning process, but this is just insane. It’s been  _ two years.  _

And for some reason, it just makes Keith even  _ angrier _ . 

 

><><><><><

  
  


Of course, Keith can only deal with anger and boredom and confusion and nothingness for so long before he snaps. He finds himself texting Rolo no more than two days later. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Can we meet for drinks _

 

He’s not even sure what he’s hoping to get out of it. He’s not even sure why he feels the need to meddle in this  _ obvious _ psychotic break that Lance is having. The urge he has to even  _ entertain _ the idea that Anton Martinez is still somehow alive, just makes him want to bash his head into a wall. But clearly, according to the smashed remains of his apartment, he’s already done that a few times and it still wasn’t enough to quell the curiosity now swirling around in his brain. If Anton actually  _ did _ have the same tattoo...then countless things could have happened to him. 

It’s not even than Keith  _ cares _ .

He just desperately needs something to  _ do _ . 

Realistically, Rolo will probably think Keith is just a crazy former employee desperate to get his job back. And there is no way Rolo will actually know what Keith is talking about. But the curiosity itches away, right under his skin. And the fact that Lance spotted that tattoo, in the pixelated quality of the viral video, just keeps urging Keith to believe that this all may be much deeper than it appears on the surface. 

He’s  _ not _ doing this for Lance. 

He’s doing this for himself. 

He meets Rolo in the small, dirty dive bar that they’ve met at about a thousand times. It’s kind of a hub for workers in their circuit. A crappy little hole in the wall called Empire--the name is a far cry from the actual place. This is where all of Keith’s interactions with his workers took place when he first started. He was never really in the business to make friends, but found that sometimes coming to Empire and hanging out with drunk people was a lot easier than trying to talk to sober criminals.  The first couple months on the job, he himself never drank, but was always fascinated with how a group of terrifying looking men could be reduced to giggly, emotional babies when they've had a few drinks. 

The bar is private enough. It is definitely in a niche part of town, far away from anything even remotely related to the glitz and glam of Hollywood. The clientele is almost 95% car thieves. They never really designated one name for themselves--the tattoo was always enough of an unspoken identifier. And as for the people in the bar who don’t have the tattoo, they always seem to fit the part anyway, without even realizing it. Rugged, dirty, covered in tattoos, probably spent a majority of their life robbing gas stations and living under a rock. Obviously, this place only attracts a very particular kind of person. And as Keith waits at the small table in the back corner for Rolo to show up, he surveys the crowd and realizes that this is still incredibly accurate. Keith recognizes a couple of people from his time on the job. A woman in a black crop top who is covered in piercings and has a dark red buzz cut--Keith once delivered her a navy blue Bugatti in San Francisco. A tall, extremely buff man with uneven sideburns and a scruffy beard. A tattoo stretches up past his jaw and onto his cheeks. Sendak. Keith has made several deliveries with him too. He’s kind of an asshole. But just the same, everyone in this bar looks like they belong here. They fit into the crowd. 

Which is why Keith nearly  _ dies _ of shock when he looks up, expecting to see Rolo, and instead sees a fresh-faced, squeaky clean, adorned in Gucci  _ Lance Martinez _ walk into the bar. 

Keith’s blood runs cold at the sight of him. His fist closes tightly around the glass of water in front of him. No. No no no no no.  _ Nope _ . 

How the  _ fuck _ did he find this place? What does he think he’s doing here? Is he  _ insane _ ?

Keith glances around in a panic, looking for any last sign of Rolo so he can get the fuck out of here. Of course Rolo is always late. And, oh  _ god _ , Keith is here investigating something related to Lance. If he gets caught, he’s fucked in so many different ways. This is not good. 

But right now, the only person who’s fucked is Lance. Keith can see everyone's eyes shifting towards him, both tentative and irritated at the same time. God, Lance could not have picked a worse thing to wear. Keith feels his face heat up in a way that almost feels like embarrassment--like he’s somehow  _ responsible _ for this idiot. Lance is wearing a tight-fitted, crisp, gray, shimmery suit. The ends of the sleeve are adorned with a flower print that looks like the curtains that used to hang in Keith’s grandma’s house. He’s got his usual makeup on--highlighter and all. And to top it all off, his hair is gelled back, fluffiness from that day in Keith’s apartment completely gone, and he looks like a straight up asshole. But lucky for him, this is probably the one place in the entire state where nobody would recognize him--and if they did, they wouldn’t give enough of a shit to do anything about it. 

Keith watches as Lance casually slings past the people in the bar--all of whom are much, much larger than him. He doesn’t look even remotely nervous that he sticks out like a sore thumb. His dead eyes scan the crowd as he approaches the bar and sits on one of the swivel stools, turning around and saying something to the bartender with a cocky grin. 

The bartender wrinkles his nose at Lance, looking incredibly unamused. Keith knows the feeling. 

But then, the strangest thing happens. 

When the bartender turns away from him to make his drink, Lance’s body physically deflates. His pin-straight posture crumples a little and he rests his elbows on the bar, scrubbing his hands down his face and then leaving them there. 

And he looks...exhausted. 

Keith can feel his own eyebrows pinching together. 

Lance takes his hands off of his face and Keith sees an honest expression there. It’s not sadness. It’s not anything pronounced, really. But there is hesitancy in it as Lance turns around carefully, scanning the crowd behind him with eyes that look uneasy. The expression looks strange on him. 

“Hey man.” 

Keith’s eyes snap upwards, feeling like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Rolo stares down at him with lazy eyes. “No beer?” 

Keith sighs tiredly, still mildly distracted by the boy at the bar. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t drink?” He says, looking back at Rolo. 

Rolo scoffs. “I meant for  _ me _ , man.” He says, smiling, as he sits down across from Keith. “Totally kidding. It’s cool. So, what’s up?” 

Keith blinks over Rolo’s shoulder. Lance is peering down at the drink in front of him, looking lost in his thoughts. He suddenly feels like he’s intruding on something by being here. But he pushes the feeling away, remembering the situation at hand. Remembering the anger still bubbling somewhere in his stomach--how Lance walked in on him while he was changing and then basically broke into his apartment to take a picture of his body. If anybody should feel intruded upon, it’s Keith. And he shouldn’t feel guilty for doing this--Lance in an asshole. 

He scoots over in his seat a little to effectively shield himself with Rolo’s body. Even with all of that said; he can’t risk Lance spotting him. The bartender comes over and places a beer in front of Rolo, who grins at it, satisfied. Apparently he had ordered while Keith was zoning out. Keith can smell the bitter, hearty scent of it and he wrinkles his nose, frowning. He doesn’t understand how anyone enjoys drinking that stuff. Rolo takes a large gulp and sighs contentedly, leaning back in his chair. “So, Keith, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He says in a lazy slur. “How was jail?” 

Keith frowns. “I’m not here to talk about that.” 

“Hm. Bummer.” 

“I have a question for you.” Keith says, trying to make it sounds like he doesn’t really care that much. Which...he  _ doesn’t _ , okay? 

“Sorry man, you can’t rejoin. It’s in the proverbial handbook.” 

“I don’t want to rejoin.” 

“Oh.” Rolo leans forward again and takes another sip of his beer. “So what’s up, then?” 

Keith takes a small breath. “Do you know anything about…” His eyes flit back to Lance for a moment, who has his empty smirk back on his face as he tries to explain something to the bartender. “The...history of the business?”

Rolo raises an eyebrow. “The...history?” He repeats back, sounding bored. 

“Yeah, like...who used to be in it.” 

Rolos shrugs. “Come on, dude. You know that info in under wraps.” 

“I know, but,” Keith sighs. “I’m curious about someone in particular.” Lance winks at the bartender, who is actually, somehow, starting to look interested in him.  _ How _ ? How does he do it? 

“Oh yeah? And who’s that?” Rolo asks. 

Keit’s eyes fall back on him. “Anton Martinez.” He tries. 

Rolo’s sly smile falls completely. His face hardens. “Oh.” 

Keith is immediately intrigued by the reaction. “Oh?” He leans forward slightly. “Oh  _ what _ ?” That was not the reaction Keith was expecting. 

Rolo shrugs. “That was before my time, man.” 

Keith feels a cold sweat starting to collect on his forehead--the curiosity grows even more by that response. “So there  _ is _ a history with him?” He asks urgently. 

“Not at liberty to say.” 

“But you literally  _ just said _ \--”

“Why you even askin’?” Rolo interrupts. “Because you were on his show and whatnot?” 

Keith swallows. Holy shit, why  _ is _ he asking? He hadn’t considered that question. “I’m just...I heard rumors.” 

Rolo raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “That’s impossible. From who?” 

“It’s not important.” 

“This whole _conversation_ isn’t important.” Rolo says, bored. Then he stand up, beer in hand. “Don’t go fretting about the system, man. It is the way it is for a reason.” 

That doesn’t settle Keith’s curiosity. Not one bit. It makes it ten times worse. “What does that _mean_?” 

“It means you’re not in it anymore.” Rolo says. “You’re out. You got fired, remember?” 

“Well yeah, I know, but this isn’t about--” 

“All information is classified. You are not a member anymore.” It is the first time, probably ever, that Keith has heard Rolo sound frustrated. ‘You know the rules, dude. It was fun to catch up, but I gotta dash.” 

“Right.” Keith says defeatedly, watching Rolo disappear back into the crowd. His stomach is stirring and it feels, oddly enough, like excitement. He begrudgingly accepts that yes, fine, maybe this situation is  _ just _ crazy enough to pique his interest. And he hates that about himself, because the whole thing is so absurdly  _ stupid _ and it only because he’s so fucking  _ bored _ and--

Oh, fuck. 

Lance is looking right at him. 

Keith swallows hard. Shit, he’s been spotted. 

Deciding to save himself the painful embarrassment of having Lance approach him, he sighs tiredly and stands up, reluctantly making is way to the bar where Lance is sitting. As he gets closer, the same charming, fake smile blooms across Lance’s face. 

“You following me, handsome?” He asks, voice hollow. Keith frowns. 

“You wish.” 

“Nah, not really.” Lance replies, tone going cold despite his smile. 

“Why are you here?” Keith snaps. He feels like most of his conversations with Lance have consisted of that question. 

“Do we really have to go over this again?” Lance snaps right back. “It is none of your business.” 

“You are so obviously not welcome here.” 

“Thankfully. These people are all freaky.” Lance bites back. 

“ _ Or _ they're just real people. I’m sure you haven’t seen one of those in a while.” 

Lance snorts. “Handsome  _ and _ funny? I have been blessed by your presence.” He deadpans as he turns back to his drink, which is untouched and starting to condensate. They both don’t speak for a moment. Keith feels like he should walk away. He doesn’t. 

Lance taps his glass in a way that almost looks anxious, before speaking again. “But...the fact that you _ are _ here means that I was right.” 

“Right about what?” 

“You mean, other than the fact that you’re probably hopelessly in love with me?” He grins smugly at Keith, who scowls so hard it actually hurts. Lance continues. “I was right about your tattoo.” 

Keith’s heart is reeling--because somehow, in some way, Lance was able to make this connection. To figure this place out. Which means that to some degree, Lance very much  _ was _ right about Keith’s tattoo. And that is not only unsettling, but shocking. 

“Well I hope you found what you were looking for.” Keith says sarcastically, trying to play it off. Trying to make it sound like he doesn’t  _ care _ what Lance was trying to find or what all of this means or how much he desperately wants to know, for some reason that he can’t seem to pinpoint. 

He can never say no to a challenge, alright? And this, all of it, is so fucking challenging.

“I haven’t found it yet.” Lance responds, sounding spiteful. “But I’m close.” 

Keith snorts. “Right.” 

Lance raises an eyebrow at him. There is still a ghost of a smile on his face but his eyes have gone cold. “Well why don’t you tell me why  _ you’re _ here, sunshine?” 

Keith frowns. “I hang out here.” He says blandly. 

“Figured that much.” Lance glances around at the mass of people behind him. “Seems like your crowd.” 

“Doesn't seem like yours at all.” Keith quips back, with an equal amount of disgust in his voice. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” 

“Aw, you care about me? I knew it.” 

“ _ Lance _ .” Keith warns through gritted teeth. “You should leave. You aren’t going to find anything here.” 

“Maybe not, if I can’t see anything past your giant head.” But Lance’s expression is starting to look weary. It’s like he doesn’t have it in him tonight. He has a time limit for that stupid, cocky smile and he’s used it all up. He turns back to his drink, another message to Keith to leave him the fuck alone. But Keith can’t seem to get his feet to move. 

He stands there awkwardly, trying to think of something to say. Because he doesn’t feel satisfied enough with that answer. But then Lance is talking again. 

“Might be another dead end though.” He continues unexpectedly, so quietly that Keith can barely hear over the music. 

Rolo’s voice echoes through Keith head. _ “That was before my time, man.”  _

He can’t fucking believe that Lance might actually be on to something. 

He takes one long, accepting, calculated breath. 

“It’s not...a dead end.” 

He sees Lance’s entire body still. Then he turns around, facing Keith with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look on his face. “Oh yeah? How’s that?” 

Keith fights the urge to roll his eyes. Fuck, he’s going to have to say it, isn’t he? That he was here to investigate, too. That Rolo actually knew what he was talking about. That somehow, Anton  _ did _ have the same tattoo, and Lance was right this whole fucking time. 

Is there any way to say that which will still make Lance feel like shit about himself? Probably not. It’s going to inflate his fucking ego so much that Keith may just kill him on the spot. He needs Lance to know that he still  _ hates _ him. He still dreams about him getting hit by taxis or poisoned by a crazy fan. He hates everything about him, from his stupid makeup to his cocky, empty grin. But…

“I’m going to help you.” 

Lance’s expression remains unchanging. “Right.” He says sarcastically. “Okay.” 

Keith shakes his head. God, this is a horrible idea. But it’s like something is possessing him to do this and he can’t seem to let it lie. “I have information that can help you.” He lies. Well, it’s half a lie. He does know more about the car theft circuit than Lance does. 

Lance’s face falls into a frown. It’s the first time Keith has ever seen an expression that clear on the boy’s face. It looks like it doesn’t fit. He almost doesn’t even look like Lance Martinez anymore. “Do you know how many people have told me that, Kogane?” He asks in a careful voice. “You trying to trick me or something?” 

“No, I really  _ do _ know stuff.” Okay, that came out sounding stupid, but he stands by it. “I just want one thing in return.” 

Lance frowns even further, looking very torn. He pauses for an uncomfortable amount of time, eyes hovering over Keith’s face. Hesitant. “And what is that?” 

“My older brother wants to be in show business.” Keith says. “If you promise you’ll help him, then I’ll help you find your dead dad.” 

“He’s  _ not dead _ .” 

“Whatever.” Keith says, voice apathetic. Maybe Lance’s father didn’t die in a plane crash, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dead. Lance needs to accept it at some point. Especially if it has something to do with  _ this _ profession. Keith crosses his arms over his chest. “We got a deal or what?” God, he hates himself for doing this. A month ago he probably would’ve killed himself before making a decision like this. But a month ago, he had a job. Now he just wants a distraction. And if that distraction happens to include his least favorite person in the entire world, it somehow seems more appealing than destroying his apartment even more.

Lance is still frowning. “I don’t trust you.” He says, in the most human-like voice Keith has ever heard from him. “I know what it looks like when someone has it out for me.” 

“I don’t care about you nearly enough to have it out for you.” Keith says, and it feels like a lie. But logically, it isn’t. 

“Then why do you want to help?” 

“You bailed me out of jail.” Keith answers. “And I need something to do--assuming you keep up your end of the bargain and help my brother.” 

Lance’s face falls, like that isn’t the first time he’s heard something like this. “Depends on how good your info is.” 

“It’s better than yours.” 

“I’ll have you know that I made it here without your help.” 

“Yeah, but with a picture of my foot. Which means I’m already basically involved.” 

Lance lets out a full body sigh. “You are incredibly irritating.” 

Keith wants to grab his shoulder and chuck him out the window.  _ He _ is irritating?  _ He’s _ the annoying one? Keith clenches his fists together and feel his nails biting into his palm. “Do you want my help or not?” He asks, frustrated. 

Lance swipes his finger along the condensation collecting at the bottom of his glass. He looks at the water on his finger like he’s thinking incredibly hard about it. Examining it. Then he sighs defeatedly, wiping the droplets onto the counter. 

“Okay. Fine.” He says. “It’s a deal.” 

Keith’s heart rate picks up, yet again, and he revels in the feeling. The feeling of doing something new. Something  _ thrilling _ . Something dangerous. 

Even if it  _ is _ with the bane of his existence. 

“Okay.” He says back. Lance’s expression looks hollow. He is much harder to read than Keith would ever expect someone so shallow to be. “Then you’re going to have to tell me everything you know.” He says, watching as Lance’s expression grows even more reluctant. “And start from the beginning.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ndsosdngjhiroewghoa <3 
> 
> my tumblr: dimplesandcurlsss  
> my art insta: @allscribbledup  
> my ko-fi: klancekorner


	3. BMW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is an accidental fanboy and Lance does what he's gotta do and theres a lot of anger involved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! im so sorry about the wait for this chapter. May has been a crazy month and I've literally only had two rest days for the past four weeks. thanks so much for being so kind and understandinggg. life is so insane and im falling behind in everything please forgive me
> 
> quick disclaimer--Lance flirts with Sendak in order to get information out of him ONLY--please do not assume i meant anything romantic or sexual to EVER happen between them. im not a fan of that age gap, my friends 
> 
> anyhow, enjoy! love you all so much

Finding a place to sit and talk where Lance wouldn’t be immediately recognized was a feat all in itself. They ended up finding a small diner outside of town with only two other guests, both of whom looked too old to give a flying fuck about Lance and his pop culture talk show. They had spent most of the car ride in silence; just Lance staring blankly at the road in front of him and Keith scrolling through his phone. The radio softly played some pop songs that Keith thankfully didn’t recognize. 

The car is less than impressive. It’s a BMW, which is all in good fun, but not one of Keith’s favorites. It must have been expensive though, because clearly it is a custom color that isn’t regularly sold. Keith thinks that shimmery, sky blue is a god awful choice, but it definitely fits Lance’s god awful aesthetic, so he can’t say he’s surprised. 

The silence is tense and a little awkward. Keith tries his best to distract himself. It doesn’t help that he is still getting countless messages about not only the viral video, but the newest addition of his panicked face as he sprinted off the stage on live television. He sighs through his nose, shutting off his phone and opting to just look out the window. 

When they get to the diner, they are seated in the far back corner. Lance grins charmingly at the hostess and makes her giggle, and Keith wonders how that fake smile comes so easily to him. He throws it on as easily as someone would throw on a t-shirt. Keith has never been one who could hide his emotions well-- just one more thing that makes Lance so irritating to him.  

They climb into the booth and Lance immediately unfolds the menu. Keith can’t help the snort that slips out. Lance glances up at him, looking annoyed. 

“What?” He asks, brows pinching. 

“It’s 2AM.” Keith says. “What could you possibly be eating right now?” 

“It’s a  _ diner _ ?” Lance snaps back, like it’s obvious. “That’s kind of the point.” He sounds much angrier than he should over something so trivial. Keith can tell he’s starting to annoy Lance just enough to get some kind of reaction out of him. He wonders if that’s an accomplishment. “I’m going to need all the carbs in the world to deal with this conversation.” 

Keith just shrugs frustratedly, too tired to think of a witty enough comeback. He sits back slightly and studies Lance’s face. His typically done-up skin looks oddly normal underneath the cheap, fluorescent lighting. Keith can actually see where some makeup has smudged off, there is a bit of darkness underneath Lance’s eyes, making him look incredibly tired. 

The waitress approaches their table, smiling kindly. “Hi, boys!” She says cheerfully. “What’ll it be?” 

In a snap, Lance is grinning again. It takes less than a second. He transforms; a flash of white, straight teeth and dimples. “Hello, beautiful.” He drawls in a charming voice. “You still doin’ breakfast food?” 

She flushes slightly at the nickname. Keith wants to put his head through the table. “‘Course!” She leans over as if telling a secret. “That’s our specialty.” 

“Oh yeah?” Lance replies. “And what do you suggest? I take it you’re an expert?” He tilts his head flirtatiously.

She giggles, clearly flattered. If she recognizes Lance, she’s doing a great job acting chill about it.  “The waffles are a town favorite.” 

Lance hums. “Waffles it is.” 

She grins widely at him and the turns to Keith. “And for you, sir?” 

“Black coffee.” Keith says bluntly. Upon seeing her smile fall slightly, he falters. “...please.” 

She nods. “Coming right up, you two!” Lance watches her walk away, and then turns back to Keith, charming grin turning into something snarky. 

“You,” He says sarcastically, “are a social butterfly.” Keith scowls.

“Excuse me if I don’t flirt with every single living thing I encounter on a daily basis.” 

“Wow, do you tease everyone like that? How do they possibly keep their pants on?”  

Keith groans. “Can you shut up for five seconds so we can have an actual conversation?” 

“You started it, babe.” 

“You know what we’re here to talk about.” 

Lance sighs slightly, snarky grin faltering. “Right.” 

They look at each other for a moment, not really knowing how to do this. Keith decides to break the ice. 

“So...tell me.” Keith says, very awkwardly. “What...happened, I guess.” 

For once, Lance doesn’t point out Keith’s failed eloquence. He just slumps a little in his seat and picks up the discarded straw wrapper in front of him, starting to fold it into a tiny zigzag. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much at all.” He says. “I keep hitting dead ends.” 

“Figured that much.” Keith says plainly. “But what about when he was, like, still...around?” 

Lance glances up at him like he’s a little surprised by the question. Then he glances back down at the wrapper in his hands. “What do you mean?” 

“Like, before the crash. Was your dad acting weird?”

Lance’s shoulders are tense. His commonly casual and loose frame looks very uncomfortable. “How about you tell me what  _ you _ know first?” He says defensively, frowning a little at the folded piece of paper. 

Keith sighs. Whatever. If Lance won’t cooperate then at least he can try to be the bigger person. “Fine. The tattoo thing was a...good lead.” He admits, disgruntled. Lance looks interested now. “It’s a symbol for…” How does he describe this? “A gang.” No that’s not right. “An exclusive group of…criminals.” 

For some crazy reason, Lance’s face doesn’t even look remotely shocked. “What does this gang do?” He asks. 

“We steal cars. Sell them somewhere else for more money.” 

Lance nods slowly, starting to rip the wrapper into tiny shreds. “Hm.” He says, looking unphased. Keith is confused. 

“And it sounds like...your  _ dad _ was part of it, at some point.” He says, hoping that clarifying it will somehow make the revelation more shocking. But Lance just hums again, like it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. Keith scowls.

“And you stole cars too?” Lance finally asks. 

“Yeah.” Keith responds. “Up until recently, anyway.” 

Lance, yet again, just hums.  

Keith sighs frustratedly. “Okay, what gives? Did you already know about this?” 

Lance looks put off by the question. “What do you mean?” 

“You don’t seem to be surprised at all.” 

An irritated huff. “Sorry?” He says, tone bitter. “What, do you want me to gasp out loud and fall to my knees?” 

“What? No.” 

“You never knew my dad, so it may seem shocking to your tiny, inconceivably small mind.” Lance says sourly. “But it’s not news to me.” 

“First of all, fuck you.” Keith says pointedly. “Second of all, what do you mean it’s not  _ news _ ?” 

And before Lance can reply with anything, the waitress returns with the food. 

Keith stares down at the black coffee placed in front of him. It smells hearty, and a little sweet. He remembers his dad always saying that shitty diners have the most underrated coffee. He takes one more long whiff and lets himself smile a little at the memory, before pushing it out of his head. 

There’s no room for that here. 

Lance’s waffles, in a baffling turn of events, actually look really fucking good. Keith watches as Lance rubs his hands together and says something else to the waitress, making her laugh as she walked away. The waffles are covered in fruity syrup with fresh blueberries and strawberries littered all over them, along with a dusting of powdered sugar. Keith has never really cared too much about food, but damn, those smell amazing. 

“Fuck yes.” Lance says, looking down at them. “See?” He points. “Carbs.”

Keith sighs tiredly. He is impossible to have a conversation with. “Can you answer my question please?” 

“What were we talkin’ about again?” 

“Your dad? Being in a gang of criminals?” 

“Oh. Right.” But Lance looks incredibly distracted now. He has already started picking at the waffles and Keith watches in complete horror as Lance starts plucking each individual berry off of them and placing them in small, color coordinated piles at the edge of the plate. He appears to be fully immersed in the action, and Keith watches, confused.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Keith asks, sounding much harsher than he meant to. Lance pauses, fork in the air. 

“Eating.” He responds angrily. 

“You’re playing with your food.” 

“This is how I eat.” 

“You’re putting the blueberries in a pile.” 

“Yes.” 

Keith sighs, not wanting to get into it. “Whatever.” 

Lance shoves a bite of waffle into his mouth. “So, you think my dad was part of your fun little car gang?” He asks, sounding unamused. 

“He had to have been. The tattoo is like, pretty set in stone as a symbol.” He pauses. “Unless you’re kicked out. Like I was.” 

Lance hums again. “The video?” He guesses blandly. 

“Yeah.” Keith clears his throat. “But, uh, you make a lot of enemies in the business so...I mean, anyone could have had it out for your dad for whatever reason.” Keith says. “A couple people get killed on the job but it has to remain a secret so--” 

“My dad,” Lance cuts in frustratedly, “is  _ not. dead _ .” 

Keith sighs, choosing to ignore him. “I’m saying that it’s possible it was covered up by something else so no one would know he was involved in criminal activity.” 

“If you keep talking about my dad like he is dead then we aren’t going to accomplish anything.” Lance argues. 

“I know it’s hard to accept, but--” 

“He’s not dead. I know he isn’t.” 

Keith is getting angrier and angrier. “ _ How _ ? How do you know? Because you know  _ everything _ , don’t you?” 

“I just feel it.” 

Keith groans, falling backwards into his seat. “This is  _ ridiculous _ . If he were alive, wouldn’t he have come back by now?” 

“Not if something bad happened to him.” 

“Lance, seriously--”

“Can I just eat my waffles in peace?” He asks, sounding exasperated. “Please?” 

“No.” Keith answers. “This whole reason we are here is to talk this out.” 

“Well, I think I’m done talking for today.”

“Are you five?” 

Lance pauses for a moment, hand stilling on his fork, before letting it drop softly into another bite of waffle. “I think this was a mistake.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic. I said I’d help but you have to actually  _ talk _ to me.” 

“I don’t want your help if you’re going to be an asshole the whole time.”

Keith grits his teeth. “Me?  _ I’m _ the asshole?” 

Lance just keep shoveling waffle into his mouth. Keith growls. 

“You know what?  _ Fine _ . This whole thing was fucking stupid anyway.” He spits, getting up forcefully. “But you’re out of your mind if you think you’re going to find him on your own.” 

Lance just keeps eating, purposefully not responding. Keith groans and tugs at his own hair frustratedly before grabbing his phone off the table and charging out the front door. 

God, how did he ever think this would work? Did he really think that Lance would suddenly become less infuriating in the span of two days? 

He scuffs his shoes angrily against the asphalt. He kicks a couple of pebbles, listening to them skitter along the rocky parking lot. 

His heart beats rapidly against the inside of his ribcage--with rage, most likely. He can’t remember the last time anyone had ever riled him up this much. Even when he was fired, he didn’t feel nearly as shitty. Who the  _ fuck _ does Lance think he is? Keith had a thought that maybe, somewhere in that boy, there was some version of a human being. But the more time he spends with him, the more he realizes that it’s not very possible at all. He could just be another Hollywood robot--corrupted beyond repair. 

The brisk night air curls around him and he slumps down onto the edge of the sidewalk, stretching his legs out in front of him and watching a couple of rusted cars chug by. They really are in the middle of nowhere. The contrast with LA is almost painful. Keith lets his eyes fall shut and takes a few long, deep breaths. Trying to collect himself. Trying to figure out a way to get home. He doubts there are any Ubers near this part of town. Maybe he is closer to where Shiro lives, now. Maybe Shiro can pick him up. 

He glances back at the diner and sees Lance through the window, staring glumly at a single blueberry sitting on his fork. 

Keith sighs.

He wants to leave him  _ so badly _ . 

But just like before, he can’t bring himself to move. 

 

><><><><><

  
  


Lance comes outside forty five minutes later. 

Keith hears him, shuffling a little awkwardly behind him as he walks out the front door, and then pausing when he apparently spots Keith. A long, tense moment goes by where Keith doesn’t hear anything else, and he can’t help but wonder if Lance just vanished into thin air. Then, the shuffling continues, and suddenly Lance is lowering himself onto the edge of the sidewalk, next to him. 

He clears his throat a little awkwardly. “You’re still here.” 

Keith sniffs, nodding. Lance smells like blueberry syrup. More silence. And then Lance sighs. 

“I need a cigarette.” He says, reaching into the front pocket of his suit. Keith furrows his brow, turning to face him. 

“You  _ smoke _ ?” 

“Only when I really need to.” Lance says, cigarette now held between his lips as he searches, presumably, for his lighter. “Not often, though. Only ever carry around one cigarette with me...Paparazzi would have my ass if they ever found out.” 

Keith snorts. “Right.” 

He watches as the small flame bathes Lance’s face in an orange light. It flickers--on, and off, and then on again. Smoking is a dirty habit--Keith hates everything about it. But he can see it physically loosening every one of Lance’s tense muscles as he takes a drag. And for a moment, it actually looks a little appealing. 

They sit in silence. 

It’s not like Keith was expecting an apology. He isn’t even sure why he’s still here. With his eyes, he follows the smoke that curls up from Lance’s cigarette, contrasting white ribbons against the dark sky. He wrinkles his nose at the smell--it’s not his favorite. But Lance, blissfully, isn’t talking. And that’s all that matters. 

That is, of course, until he starts talking again. 

“I know why you’re here.” He mumbles around his cigarette. 

Keith turns to look at him. “Yeah. Because we made a deal.” He says. 

“No, I mean, I know why you’re here. Really.” 

“For my brother.” 

Lance sighs. “Maybe. That may be part of it.” He takes another drag and Keith frowns even further. 

“I don’t understand.” 

Lance’s throat bobs as he swallows. Keith tries to picture the shimmery, charming face he met only a few weeks ago during his interview. He’s having trouble matching that face to the one he’s looking at now. Lance studies the embered tip of his cigarette. “You just need a fix.” 

At that, Keith scowls. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t do dru--” 

Lance groans. “Not  _ talking _ about drugs.” He looks at Keith, bitter scowl plain on his face. “You need a fix of...whatever the hell it is. I don’t know. Adventure, or whatever.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re a junkie.” Lance mumbles, facing the floor again. “Like...an adrenaline junkie, I think they call it. I  _ know _ because…” Lance lifts the heel of his hand to rub at his eye. “Because my dad was the same way.” A strangled pause. “Is. My dad  _ is _ the same way.” 

Keith doesn’t know how long he stares at Lance’s face, which is screwed up into a sour frown like he can’t even stomach the idea. Keith’s brain is moving at a mile a minute, and he isn’t even sure whether to defend himself or ask for another explanation or just get up and walk away because--

“You don’t know anything about me.” He says, voice edging towards anger. 

“I know that you used to be in a--what was it? Exclusive gang of  _ criminals _ ? I know that you tried to throw yourself off the roof when you were on my show. I know that you destroyed your apartment after two days of having nothing to do.” Lance sounds bored, and takes another drag before continuing. “And you punched two teenagers in a cafe in the middle of nowhere. Am I forgetting something?” 

Keith swallows hard. As furious as he is with Lance’s pretentious explanation, he does kind of have a point. Keith hasn’t really been on his best behavior lately. “So what?” He asks. 

Lance takes a deep breath through his nose, stubbing his cigarette into the sidewalk. “So if my dad really  _ is _ the same way, then you should know, better than  _ anyone else _ , that he isn’t dead.” He says. And when he looks at Keith this time, his eyes are earnest. Almost...hopeful. He swallows hard when Keith doesn’t immediately react. “Look...I’m being a dick. But it’s because I just don’t... _ get _ it.” He shakes his head a little and looks away, like making eye contact with Keith that long was physically painful for him. Keith blinks in shock at the sudden admission, feeling very unprepared to have this conversation. 

“Get what?” 

Lance still doesn’t look at him. “You told me to tell you everything.” He laughs humorlessly. “Look, Kogane, contrary to the belief of the entire known universe, I was never very close with my father. You want me to tell you everything? I don’t  _ know _ anything.” He sounds bitter. 

“Nothing at all?” 

Lance shakes his head again. “My father lived a double life. All I know is the life that everyone else knows. You know...the famous one.” He leans back on his hands, somehow looking very chill, given the content of the conversation. “I think the reason I can’t  _ stand _ you is because you’re... _ literally _ his other life. Like, it makes so much more fucking sense now.” 

Keith sits dangerously still--afraid that if he moves one muscle at all, this human version of Lance will disappear and the Lance from the diner will suddenly re-emerge. “His...other life?”

“Yeah, ya know. Like. Destroying the penthouse. Disappearing for hours and coming back with scrapes all over his face. Getting into fights in bars and driving like, forty five over the speed limit.” Lance lists them as if they are diseases. “And then you somehow were both part of the same  _ criminal organization? _ ” He leans forward and rubs his hands down his face. “I’ve been looking for my dad for  _ two years _ and now I feel like I’m adopted and you’re his actual son. Which, honestly, wouldn’t surprise me.” 

“That’s…” Keith trails off, clueless about how to respond. He never paid much attention to Anton Martinez when he was still alive--but that man  _ really _ must’ve been one hell of an actor if he was able to conceal something that Keith can barely even control. 

Lance nods. “Yeah.” He says. “Which is why I basically forced myself to track you down and have you on my show, no matter how much I would’ve rather forgotten you existed. I just can’t...get into his head. Not like you probably can. ” 

The words are vulnerable and Keith can actually hear how much Lance desperately  _ didn’t _ want to say them out loud. He almost feels like it didn’t even happen. They weigh down on both of them, the tension of the night finally starting to peter out into pure exhaustion. 

“That...almost sounded like a compliment.” Keith finally says, rubbing some more salt in the wound, because why not? 

“I compared you to my deranged father. It’s an insult, Kogane.” Lance says back, frowning.

Keith hums. “Of course.” He runs a hand through his hair. Lance doesn’t acknowledge him. “Look, we aren’t really big fans of each other.” 

Lance snorts. 

“But, the truth is that you need my help. And my brother needs help too. And I…” 

Lance finally looks up at him impatiently when Keith doesn’t finish his sentence. “Yes?” 

“I...need something new.” 

“A fix.” 

“I guess.” Keith can feel his face twisting up uncomfortably at the admission. “So, the faster we solve this, the faster we never have to see each other again. Sound good?” 

Lance studies his face for a moment, and Keith notices that his makeup has almost completely smudged off. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he registers that Lance Martinez actually has freckles. A lot of them. 

“Okay.” Lance says. “Yeah, that sounds...yeah.” 

“Okay, great.” Keith agrees, as amicably as you can agree with someone you hate. “Because I think I already have a lead.” 

 

><><><><><

 

Lance drops him off at his apartment after the diner. Keith, for the first time in a very long time, falls asleep in the car on the way home. He really doesn’t mean to, it was just a very exhausting day and the low hum of BMWs tend to put him to sleep; another reason why he doesn’t like them. 

But he wakes up feeling oddly refreshed, as Lance practically kicks him out of the car. “Let’s meet tomorrow morning.” He says, a little gruffly, and Keith just nods, before slamming the door and watching Lance drive away. 

He steps into his apartment and stares at the mess, long and hard, before accepting his fate and beginning to clean it up. It takes all night, but his short nap was more sleep than he’d had in a while, and he feels up to the task. As the sun rises, his apartment looks close to spotless again, aside from the holes in the wall. He actually feels himself smiling a little. 

As a kid, Keith was always tidy to the point of it being horribly boring. Nothing was ever out of place. He shared a room with Shiro, who, contrary to what many people believed, was actually the messy one. Camera equipment, journals and sketchbooks, heaps of laundry, open DVD cases and even video games.  People would walk into their room and assume Keith’s side was Shiro’s; which makes sense, given Keith’s seemingly disheveled appearance. But it was actually the opposite. 

His parents were really the only people who knew how particular Keith was about his space; which is why he was never really told to “make his bed” or “clean his room. Keith wonders what his father would think if he saw what his apartment looked like for the past week. 

Sadness curls up tightly in his chest and he breathes it out, like he always tries to do. 

It doesn’t matter. The apartment is clean now. 

He falls forward onto the sofa, muscles sore from the unexpected amount of physical labor his cleaning entailed. He feels his father’s keychain pressing into his thigh a little painfully as he lays on it, but it’s a sting he has gotten used to by having it on him so often. His phone buzzes and he feels around for it, not having the energy to get up and look. Once he finds it, he squints at the bright screen, which isn’t really doing his tired eyes any favors. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ By the way, you are in my phone as ‘lord of the asswipes’  _

 

_ Just thought u should kno _

 

Keith hums to himself, unamused. Lance is literally a giant seven year old. Exchanging numbers with him was probably the dumbest idea he has ever had, but he’s invested in this now, unfortunatley.

 

**_Keith_ **

 

_ Fascinating. _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ So who is ur lead _

 

Keith rolls over onto his back to hold the phone more steady. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ It’s a long story and going to take some planning. We should meet  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Hmm couldn’t stay away, could you?  _

 

Keith groans. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Dont you hate me _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ I do _

 

_ But you’re so pretty I can’t help it  _

 

_ Its like im on autopilot _

 

Keith rolls his eyes.

 

**Keith**

 

_ Whatever. Come over so we can work this out _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ mmk _

 

Keith tosses his phone to the end of the couch and sits up groggily. He eyes his laptop on the coffee table in front of him before leaning forward and opening it. Maybe attempting to do any research he can will fill the time and possible lead to something. Because, even though he has a direction he thinks they can go in, he isn’t extremely psyched about it. 

If Lance is Keith’s least favorite person in the world, then Sendak is a close second. 

Keith honestly isn't even sure Sendak will speak to him--given that he’s never really spoken to him before and  _ now _ Keith is technically kicked out of the organization. But with the little knowledge that he does have, he’s fairly certain that Sendak is one of the rare few thieves that has been doing this for years. Like,  _ years _ . So if anyone will know anything about what the organization used to be like, it would probably be Sendak.

It’s a stretch--but in reality, this whole thing is kind of a stretch. They’re literally looking for a man who died two years ago. 

Keith clicks the search bar and types:  _ Anton Martinez.  _

The first thing to pop up is a headline from E!News;  **Acting Legend Anton Martinez Killed in Plane Crash.**

He clicks the article. 

_ Fifty-two year old Anton Martinez was preparing to visit his second vacation home in South America when his private jet crashed off the coast of Puerto Rico. Involved in the crash was Anton along with his pilot and very good friend, Hayden Bradley. Parts of the jet were discovered shorty after, towards the shoreline. No bodies were recovered.  _

Keith frowns. Seems vague enough to be questionable. 

Many of the subsequent articles consisted of conspiracy theories--a very popular one being that Hayden Bradley was emotionally unhinged and harbored a dangerous grudge against Martinez, which lead to their demises. None of the sources at all struck Keith as legitimate. They were definitely biased, and written from dramatic points of view with very little evidence presented. 

One of the main things Keith learned from his father, being a journalist, was how to tell when a writer is bullshitting something--in other words, whether or not the source is credible. It was a mindset that he never really meant to take on. In fact, he never realized that he subconsciously analyzed articles until after his father passed away. But his father always talked a lot about the discrepancies that could be hiding in articles; personal bias, no brand association, lack of evidence, never updated, out of date, and so on. These are things that, according to all laws of common sense, should be easy to pick up on. But according to his father, one of the reasons there are so many disagreements in the world is because massive amounts of people fall for it every single time. 

His father was on a mission, like most other journalists, to uncover the truth about nearly everything. He wanted to expose cultures; the good, the bad and the ugly of each one of them. He always told Keith that his life purpose was to be “the most reliable source in the world.” That was when Keith was much younger, of course. But Keith admired it. He respected that his dad would have to travel a lot. For the sake of uncovering the truth, he could survive a few weeks at a time without his dad around. 

And maybe, now that his dad is gone, Keith wants to be the one to help uncover the truth. 

He hasn’t done very many great things in his life, so it’s the least he can do. 

His phone buzzes and snaps him out of his reverie. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Could you buzz me in pls im undercover and starting to get strange looks  _

 

Keith sighs, long and tired, through his nose. Is he really ready for this shit today? 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Of course, your highness  _

 

><><><><><

 

There is one, tiny, singular, pixelated photo of Sendak on the entirety of the internet--and strangely enough, it is actually on the alumni page of the college he went to back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth. Lance really wanted to see what he looked like before making any more plans to approach him; and now, both he and Keith are hunched over and staring at the incredibly small, thumbnail picture. Keith glances at Lance, gaging his reaction. The picture of Sendak, although taken a long time ago, still portrays a pretty accurate image. Sendak has had his tattoos for a while, apparently. The only thing missing from the photo is the choppy facial hair and about 40 more pounds of muscle, but it sure is Sendak’s face staring back at them.

Lance is frowning. 

“This guy could probably shatter my ribcage with his index finger.” He deadpans. “Are you actually insane?” 

Keith decides to save his dramatic eye-rolls for only when absolutely necessary--but that statement came close. “He’s not as scary as he looks.” He lies. “Besides, he’s the only lead I have. So, it’s not up for debate.” 

“Look, gorgeous. You rock the ‘battle scars’ look.” He says, glancing up at what is presumably the scar in Keith’s brow. “Wear and tear looks good on you. Unfortunately, it’s not part of the Hollywood agenda. My face is literally half of my career.” 

Keith huffs a humorless laugh. “At least you admit it.” 

Lance scowls. “My point is that this is a horrible idea. And something bad is going to happen to me.” 

“Maybe. If we’re lucky.” 

“Rude.” 

Keith sighs, lifting the laptop onto his lap. “Look, he’s probably not even that tough. I’ll do all the dirty work if there is any, okay? I’ll…” He grimaces as the words come out. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” 

“You really think you can take that guy?” Lance practically sneers. “Seriously? I don’t trust your ego.” 

“It’s not an ago.” Keith bites back. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. Fighting is part of the job.” 

Lance looks uneasy. Keith sighs. “What? Are you worried about me or something?” 

He gets a frown in response. “ _ God _ , no. I’m worried about  _ me _ . If you die then I’ll probably be killed next.” 

“I’m not going to die.” Keith says, trying to sound as confident as possible. In reality, he might. But for the purpose of this conversation, he chooses to portray confidence. 

Lance still looks very hesitant. Keith has noticed that Lance appeared today without his usual full face of makeup--some highlighter still shines on his cheekbones but the rest of his skin looks the barest Keith has ever seen it. He is undercover as a pizza boy, and, because of this, looks...surprisingly normal. Boyish. White t-shirt, blue jeans. His typically-gelled hair is back to it’s rare, fluffy state, smushed beneath a red visor that reads “Pizza Planet”. His ensemble makes his hesitancy even more apparent--without the glitz and the glam to cover himself with, Lance looks...starkly  _ human _ , the darkness under his eyes now on full view as he looks at Keith wearily. 

Keith, almost subconsciously, notices the freckles again. 

“Fine.” Lance finally says. “Fine, we’ll go meet with this Sendak guy. But I have a really crammed schedule for the next couple of weeks. I’m talking like, back to back interviews and appearances.” He says it in a bit of a snobby way. “I can’t be seen doing anything else. It’s already a stretch that I’m here right now.” Keith leans back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“It’s alright. We’d be going sometime after three AM anyway.” He says, a little smugly. “That’s usually when his rotations finish. We can probably find him at Empire.” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “Fun.” He drawls, sarcastically. “So, do you have a plan or what?” 

Keith shrugs. “Nah, not really.”

“Are you kidding me?” Now Lance is scowling. “How do you propose we  _ face _ this asshole?” 

Keith sighs, annoyed. “In case you haven’t  _ noticed _ , Martinez,” He snaps, “I don’t really like making plans.” 

 

><><><><><

  
  


Showing up at Empire with Lance is a very different feeling from just running into him there. Thankfully, it is late enough that the bar isn’t completely packed. Only a few people are scattered throughout the dining area--among them, Sendak. Keith spots him the moment he walks in, somehow looking more horrifying than usual. 

Keith had decided to try and blend in by dressing as bland and normal as possible. He ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans and opted for a plain, gray long sleeved shirt and black pants. His father’s keychain still remains in his pocket, a comforting pressure against his thigh. 

Lance, on the other hand, didn’t even try to be subtle. Much like the first time Lance visited Empire, he is wearing formal clothing. This time a little less so, but formal still. He has on a navy blue button down shirt that is sinfully tight--has he no  _ shame _ ?--with buttons that look like they might be shimmery, which just makes Keith want to vomit. He knows that Lance gets away with wearing this stuff strictly because he is Lance, and he has a reputation to uphold, which somehow makes his outfits even worse to Keith. They station themselves at a table and Keith wrinkles his nose, eyeing Lance’s clothes. 

“Did you  _ really _ have to wear that?” He asks sourly. 

“Unlike you, I have a job.” Lance snaps back. “You know, talk show? Being famous? Does any of this ring a bell?” He looks at a puddle of condensation left on the table, presumably from a glass of beer,  and frowns in disgust. Then he glances back up at Keith. “You know, maybe it would do you good to follow me on something. So you know what I’m up to.” 

“Why would I give a shit what you’re up to?” 

“Because my schedule greatly conflicts with all this.” Lance says reasonably. Then a smirk. “Also because I love new followers.” 

“I will literally die before I follow any of your social media.” Keith deadpans, surveying the small crowd in the bar for familiar faces. “I think I can live in ignorance.” 

“What if you’re missing vital information?”

Keith snorts. “Doubtful.” 

“I know you don’t want to miss selfies of  _ this _ face.” He says, suddenly sounding a lot like ‘talkshow’ Lance as he points to himself. “Nobody can say no to my baby blues.” 

Keith looks him dead in the eye. “I can.” 

“Aw. Your denial is cute. You obviously find me just as attractive as I find you, Kogane.” 

Keith groans. “I’m  _ not _ following your social media. Case closed. Now shut up, we have work to do, okay?” 

Lance’s smile remains on his face, infuriatingly smug. “Whatever you say, darlin’. Lead the way.” 

Keith rolls his eyes (because this conversation deserves an eye roll, clearly) and starts making his way towards where Sendak is sitting. He can feel Lance following closely behind. If Lance is nervous, he’s definitely not showing it. Keith’s heart rate elevates in an unusual fear as they inch closer. He spins around to face Lance. 

“Hang back.” He commands. “If Sendak  _ does _ know your dad, then chances are he knows you too. Our chances to find out any info may be ruined.” 

“Got it, gorgeous. You’re single and ready to mingle.” Lance jokes casually, winking like this isn’t a serious situation at all. Keith doesn’t even justify the remark with a response and turns away, continuing towards Sendak. 

As he approaches the table, it really sinks in that he doesn’t have a plan. Sendak looks up and sees him, and it’s too late to back out. Their eyes lock and Sendak somehow manages to look murderous without even knowing, in any kind of detail, who Keith is. Keith swallows hard and takes the final few steps to close the remaining distance between them. He leans forward onto the table. 

“Can I help you?” Sendak snarls, eyes Keith like he’s a piece of chewed up gum left on the hardwood. Keith leans in closer. 

“Just wanted to run something by you.” Keith says, matter-of-factly. He only did a few deliveries with Sendak during his time, and none of them involved talking. He wonders if Sendak remembers his face at all. “I see you here a lot. Wanted your opinion on some rumors going ar--”

“I don’t do gossip.” A gruff reply. Angry and blunt. “Get outta here.” 

Keith sighs inwardly. “ _ This _ gossip may lead to something...of  _ value _ to you.” He adds in a lower voice. On a basic level, he really does know how these people work, considering he is one himself. He’s had to barter with enough scary men to know what they like to hear. 

“Oh yeah?” Sendak asks, still sounding irritated. “And what’s in it for you? Just ‘clearin’ up some rumors?’” He scoffs. “Give me a break. I wasn’t born yesterday, Tiny.”

“Doesn’t matter what’s in it for me.” Keith replies, deciding to ignore being called Tiny. “You’ll still be getting the better end of the deal.” 

“If you don’t leave me alone to drink this beer, I swear I’ll punch your face in.” 

Keith leans forward slightly without thinking. Kind of concerning that is his reaction to being punched in the face. “Just need a couple answers from you. That’s it.”

Sendak’s eyes burn holes in his forehead. He looks contemplative for a moment. “How much money we talkin’ here?” He asks threateningly. 

“More than a delivery.” Keith lies--probably not the best idea but he runs with it. His heart is beating in his throat, wild and nervous as he stands on what feels like thin ice. It’s almost like he can see a fistfight happening but doesn’t mind. Almost...wants it to happen.

Sendak narrows his eyes. “You better not be pulling shit, kid--”

“I’m good for it. I swear.” Keith lies, again. 

“Alright, then. Make this quick.” Sendak mutter through gritted teeth, looking around to make sure no one is listening. “The fuck do you want from me?” 

Keith glances around the bar. No sign of Lance. Did he leave? Keith wouldn’t be surprised. “I just need to know if you’ve heard anything about...Anton Martinez.” 

Sendak’s face twists into one of complete discomfort for a moment, before returning to it’s stony, cold state. “Why the fuck would I know anything about him?”  

That’s discouraging, but Keith pushes forward anyway, not really buying it. There was a reaction there. He saw it. “Word on the street is...he worked the circuit too.” Keith studies his reaction. “...Around the same time you started.”

Sendak looks distinctly uncomfortable, almost to the point of pure frustration. He stares at Keith with an agitated expression. “Why does that matter? He’s  _ dead _ .” 

“But did you know him when he was alive?”

Sendak narrows his eyes and doesn’t answer for an unsettling amount of time. Then he says, “this all seems incredibly irrelevant to you, Tiny.” 

Keith swallows. “I...have my reasons.” 

“You expect me to take that as an explanation?” 

Keith frowns, scrambling. “I have a bone to pick with his son.” He says, which isn’t entirely false. “So, you going to give me what I want or what?” 

The expression on Sendak’s face could probably shatter glass. “I don’t know anything about that man. Didn’t even know he had a son.” He all but growls, gripping his pint of beer. It is said with an urgency that almost sounds rehearsed. Keith isn’t buying it. With that insane reaction? There has to be something.  _ Anything _ . 

“I am willing to double the money.” He mutters, invading Sendak’s personal space now, “if you  _ tell me what you know.”  _

“I know nothing.” Sendak rumbles back, clearly offended by Keith’s advances. “You better take a step back, Tiny, or you’ll be in for a world of pain.”

Keith clenches his fists, fingernails biting into his palms. “You  _ know _ Anton Martinez-- tell me how.” He commands through clenched teeth. 

“He’s a famous guy. Everyone knows him.” Sendak moves to leave but Keith blocks his way. Sendak growls angrily. “Out of the way.” He says coldly. 

“Not without some answers.” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“We  _ made a deal _ .” 

“You really wanna do this, kid?” Sendak snaps, voice rising. “Here? You’re making a huge mistake.” 

Keith clenches his fists. He’s ready. God, he’s ready to fight this asshole. “You punch me, I punch back.” He snarls, crowding into Sendak’s space. Apparently that is enough to make him snap, and he shouts in frustration, drawing his fist back and preparing it to connect directly with Keith’s nose. 

But just as Keith braces himself, the hit doesn’t come.

Instead, he hears Lance’s obnoxious, smug voice ringing in the bar. 

“Woah, woah! Easy, boys!” He says, in a cheesy, amused tone. He physically steps in between Keith and Sendak, breaking them up. “No need to fight! There’s enough of me to go around.” 

And now Keith wants to punch  _ Lance _ \--because how could he blow their fucking cover like that? Is he insane? And why is he stepping in front of a three hundred pound man with anger issues? He’s  _ asking _ to get hurt.

But then Keith realizes that Sendak still hasn’t hit him.

He hasn’t hit  _ them _ \--either of them. 

He’s staring at Lance, completely mystified. 

At first Keith groans inwardly because,  _ fuck _ , he recognizes Lance. Of  _ course _ he recognizes Lance. 

But then Lance grins impishly at him; flirtatiously, showing off his dimples, and says, “How ‘bout a drink, handsome? Get you away from  _ this _ guy.” He gestures annoyingly towards Keith. “He’s been buggin’ me, too.”

And as if they have just been transported to an alternate universe, Sendak hesitates. Just for a moment. A scowl is still twisting his face painfully but there is an absurd flush now beginning to spot his cheeks. His fist loosens slightly. Keith watches, stunned. 

“I don’t need another drink.” He spits at Lance, but it sounds oddly defensive. “You should leave.” 

“Without getting to spend some time with  _ you _ ?” Lance replies charmingly, without any thought. “Wouldn’t dream of it, big guy.” 

Sendak glares at Keith. 

Then back at Lance. “I…” 

Keith actually takes a step back. Because he sees what Lance is trying to do. And it’s...it’s actually  _ working _ . 

And then Sendak says, “Perhaps...I can do one more drink.” It sounds resigned, like he is giving in to something. Like he was a three year old throwing a tantrum, and then someone offered him a lollipop. 

And as they walk towards the bar, Sendak sends one more piercing glare at Keith, eyes like daggers. Smoke could literally be coming out of his ears. 

Then he turns back to Lance and his gaze softens, ever so slightly, as Lance smiles broadly at him, talking about something animatedly and giggling. 

And...Damn it.  

Sendak  _ doesn’t _ recognize Lance at all, which means he may have been telling the truth about Anton. 

But what’s even worse is he’s  _ into _ Lance--as a complete stranger. 

It’s super gross, all things considering. Sendak is old enough to be Lance’s dad. But somehow, in the span of five fucking seconds, Lance got this man to want him. And now he’s talking to him, openly and freely. Bantering with a seven foot tall creature, made out of hard muscle and graphic tattoos. He seems completely unphased. Not one note of fear or uncertainty in his face. And Sendak...loves it. 

_ How _ ? How does he do that? 

Keith wants to scream for so many reasons. 

Sighing in defeat, he moves closer to the bar to eavesdrop. Lance is making it look easy--leaning in close and smiling that same flashy smile Keith has spent years and years despising. “Can’t believe I’m actually sitting here with your right now…” Lance murmurs, fingers tapping very close to Sendak’s forearm. “You’re one of the greats, aren’t you?” 

Sendak has the audacity to look flustered. “Been doing this for a long time.” He says. 

“I can tell. You seem...experienced.”

“I am.” 

Keith wants to die. 

“I bet there aren’t many people in the circuit who do it quite as well.” Lance says. His voice is soft. Almost encouraging. “You probably crushed the competition.” 

Sendak hums. “I definitely bring in the most money.” He says, leaning into Lance like it’s a secret. Lance doesn’t even  _ flinch _ at the sudden closeness. Which is insane because  _ Keith _ flinches, and he’s sitting fifteen feet away. 

“You definitely do.” Lance says, laughing lightly. “I bet you make some enemies, being that powerful.”    
Sendak takes a gulp of his beer. “Not so much anymore.” He says gruffly. “But when I first started, I angered a lot of people.” He says it smugly. 

Lance smiles, humming. “Yeah?” 

“Jealousy.” Sendak rumbles. “I don’t blame them.” 

“Took the place of a lot of experts, huh?” 

“Pushed them all to the bottom.” Sendak affirms, nodding. “There wasn’t enough room for anyone else at the top.” 

Keith runs a hand through his hair. Lance is actually getting information out of this guy. This is the most Keith has ever seen someone accomplish in this bar without getting punched in the face. 

“I wonder where those people are now…” Lance says, and it sounds like he might actually care. He places a hand on Sendak’s forearm. Keith flinches. “Probably not nearly as rich as you.” His voice is sugary sweet.

Sendak snorts. “Well, I’m almost positive one of them became...an airline pilot.” He says, peering into his drink. “So I do not envy that lifestyle.” 

Airline pilot. Keith glances at Lance, who doesn’t seem to have made any sort of mental connection and is still gazing at Sendak with fake, gooey eyes. 

Pilot. Could he be talking about...Hayden Bradley? 

Lance grins. “And you shouldn’t envy that lifestyle.” Lance says. “When yours is so much more...appealing.” 

Oh god, Sendak is gazing at him now like a lovesick fool and Keith can’t take this shit anymore. He dials Lance’s number and breathes a sigh of relief when Lance grins at his phone and says, “Excuse me for a moment, handsome. Duty calls.” 

He hops off the barstool and starts making his way towards the bathroom. Keith waits a minute before following him. They crowd into the handicap stall and lock the wooden door behind them. Lance raises an expectant eyebrow at him when they are finally alone, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look very happy. 

Keith’s first instinct, of course, is to  _ also _ not be happy. “ _ Flirting _ with a fifty year-old?” He snaps. “That’s your idea of an investigation?” 

“I’m from Hollywood, Kogane. I’ve had to deal with some pretty fucked up people and sex sells, alright? You’re lucky I showed up when I did.” 

“I could’ve handled it. I don’t have to  _ flirt _ when I can just punch a guy.” 

Lance looks at Keith with an incredulous expression on his face. “ _ Excuse _ me? I saved you from getting your  _ nose _ punched directly into your  _ brain _ !” He screeches, voice cracking as he gestures wildy. “You should be  _ thanking _ me! Tell me, is that how you solve all your problems? Just antagonizing people and waiting for them to physically attack you?” 

“It usually goes better than that!” Keith argues.    
“Why can’t you just admit that I was right this time around?” Lance asks, exasperated. “You know, sometimes being an actual  _ human being _ and talking to someone is more effective than being hotheaded--”

“I’m not--” 

“And impulsive! God,  _ just _ like my dad!” Lance shouts, and it sounds like the frustration goes a long way back. “Why are you  _ like _ that?” 

The question hits Keith harder than he thought it would. “I would’ve gotten the answer out of him eventually.” He says, unsure but still defensive. 

Lance scoffs. “Right. He was going to kill you, and you know it.” 

“No, he wasn’t.” 

“Next time, try not to be self destructive when I’m around, okay? Especially not when I’m wearing a Ferragamo shirt. This thing was $2000. It doesn’t need your blood all over it.” 

Keith wrinkles his nose, feeling way too many negative emotions swirling around in his chest. The easiest one to identify, unfortunately, is shame. Because the way Lance handled the situation wasn’t ideal by any means, but by that same token, the way Keith handled it was arguably worse. 

“I…” Keith leans back against the wall across from Lance, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I...yeah. Okay. I got a little...into it.” 

Lance scoffs again. 

“I can’t help it. He pissed me off.” 

“Not worth dying over being a little angry.” Lance mutters, annoyed. He clearly doesn’t understand, and Keith doesn’t want to go through the trouble of explaining it. 

Because there  _ is _ a reason why he is the way he is. Why that numbing feeling scares him so much. But it sure as shit isn’t any of Lance’s fucking business. 

He sighs frustratedly. “Can we just get out of here?” He asks, angry. “Might as well quit while we’re ahead.” 

Lance is still frowning. “Fine.” He says. “But I’m driving myself home. Take an Uber or something.” He sounds like Keith has somehow genuinely  _ offended _ him but his actions--which is insane. Clearly, he’s overreacting. He marches out of the stall before Keith can say another word.    
Keith slumps against the door and wonders how they will ever get  _ anything _ done if they can’t even have one conversation without fighting. 

 

><><><><><

 

Two days pass, long and slow. Keith tries to keep himself busy by seeing how long he can run without fainting (approximately 11 miles) and looking at cars online because he’s really fucking sick of taking Ubers. When he was stealing cars, he never needed his own. Now, he sees it as a good investment. He definitely has the money for it. 

He texted Lance the morning after their night at Empire and didn’t get a reply. Now, two days later, there has still been no word from him, and Keith is actually starting to think he may have ran him off for good. It wouldn’t be the first time his behavior pushed someone away, and if that someone is Lance, he really shouldn’t give a shit. Lance is abominable as well--he’s not exactly a stand-up guy. So why does Keith, in the very pit of his chest, feel oddly guilty that Lance hasn’t answered him? 

The worst part is that they have a new lead. Sendak had said that one of the workers in the circuit became an airline pilot--and Keith can’t help but make a connection to Hayden Bradley. He was the pilot of the Martinez’s private jet, after all. It’s a slim avenue to pursue but Keith is still itching with curiosity. He can’t shake the feeling that things might actually start making sense soon. 

That is, if Lance would just fucking  _ answer him. _

He sends another text. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Look, we don’t have to be happy with each other, we just have to solve this. Just answer me, I have an idea  _

 

Two hours pass. Still nothing. 

He understands Lance is a busy guy, being an international celebrity and all. But doesn’t he always have his phone on him? 

Keith groans frustratedly and, without even processing what he is doing, opens Lance’s Instagram page. Begrudgingly, he scrolls up to the most recent photo and clicks it. It’s a selfie--Lance is laying in bed and clearly holding his phone above his face, smiling sleepily at the camera with ruffled bed head. A stripe of sunlight streaks across his face. The caption reads,  _ ‘lazy days are the best days’ _ . 

It has 456,985 likes. 

Keith blinks at the date. It’s from this morning. So Lance is having a lazy day and  _ still _ not answering him? Keith came on here thinking he’d find some kind of reason, like Lance was travelling or something. But Lance is literally doing nothing today--which makes everything worse. 

He doesn’t even realize that he hit the ‘Follow’ button. But that’s an issue for another time. 

Keith marches out of his apartment, grabbing his jacket and dialing Hunk’s phone number, which is still conveniently in his phone from his time on the show. Hunk answers after the first ring. 

“Hunk Garrett, Agent and Manager, may I ask who is calling?” Hunk answers, completely professional. 

“Hunk. Hi. It’s Keith.” 

A pause. “Wait, come again?” 

“Keith...Kogane. From...the roof.” Keith says awkwardly, anger from earlier starting to fade slightly. 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ , hello. Uh...Can I…? Did you forget something in the studio or something?” 

Keith frowns. “Do you know where Lance is?” 

“Lance?” 

“Yeah, I’m looking for him.” 

A very long silence. Then, “You’re not like...planning on hurting him are you?” 

“What?  _ No _ .” Keith snaps. 

“Because you guys didn’t really seem too fond of each other--”

“I borrowed something of his and I want to return it.” Keith lies. 

“I’m...so confused.” Hunk says, not helpfully. “Also, I’m not able to disclose that information to you, so--” 

“I just want to apologize.” Keith says, and he’s suddenly not really sure if that’s even a lie. “For, you know, what happened on his show.” 

“Dude...it’s been like a month.” Hunk says reasonably. 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” Keith says. “At least tell him I called?” 

“Okay?” 

“Thanks Hunk. Bye.” Keith hangs up, feeling a little embarrassed and he can’t figure out why. It takes him a moment to realize he’s still walking towards nothing in particular, so he slows down in front of a bus stop and decides to sit on the bench in it. He slumps forward, putting his face in his hands. His legs still ache from all the running he did yesterday, but that isn’t enough to stop the numbness from returning, unwanted yet persistent beneath his skin. The pain in his legs is actually the only thing keeping him sane right now, thrumming through the rest of his body as a reminder that his muscles still work--that they still feel. That he’s still alive. 

He doesn’t even remember when he started caring so much about that feeling. 

He just remembers  _ feeling _ it--terrified and desperate, as he watched his father’s chest rise and fall, a heartbeat that barely even existed anymore, attached to an oxygen tank and a feeding tube in the white, white hospital room. 

His phone vibrates and he answers immediately, thankful for the distraction. Lance is talking instantly. 

“You called my manager?” He asks cooly. “Maybe you  _ are _ in love with me.” He doesn’t really sound angry, just distracted. Maybe a little aloof. Had Keith seriously been overthinking it that much?  

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Keith snaps, voice cracking. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes I’m serious. I get that I was out of line last night but we have things to do.”

“Jesus.” Lance sighs, sounding exasperated. “I told you, I’m  _ busy _ . I never check my phone.” He replies. “I’m talking to you from a bathroom stall at a charity gala right now and if I don’t make an appearance Hunk will have my ass. Then I have two more events to go to today and hair and makeup will probably take the rest of the time.” There is a frown in his voice. “My life is on public display, I can’t just ‘do things’ during the day. Every minute is planned out.” 

Keith scowls. “Uh  _ yeah _ but I just checked your Instagram and you said you were having a lazy day!”

The silence that rings between them is the only indicator that Keith actually said that out loud. He holds his breath, because if this whole phone call didn’t make him sound psychotic enough, saying that definitely did. 

Lance bursts into laughter. And it’s actually _ laughter _ \--genuine, happy laughter. Keith has never heard a laugh like that from him before. It’s almost like it bubbles out of him, like he can’t control it. 

“Oh my god!” Lance gasps between chuckles. “You checked my  _ Instagram _ !” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Keith bites, panicked. Embarrassed heat inexplicably fills his cheeks.  “I just needed to know why you weren’t answering me.” 

“Oh my god, Kogane.” Lance is still giggling. “I thought you’d rather  _ die _ than--” 

“Okay, alright, you got your laugh. Okay? So why are you lying to me now?” 

“I’m not lying! I really do have a busy day. I’m telling you, I barely ever check my phone.” 

“Then why did you--?” Keith groans frustratedly. “Why did you post on Instagram that--?” He huffs. 

Lance giggles again, sounding a little incredulous at Keith’s naivety. “Dude. Hollywood 101: Nothing on Instagram is real.” Yet another giggle. “It’s like, in the social media rulebook. Just have to post what people want to see.” 

“And people want to see you with horrible bed head?” 

“Yes. People want to see that I’m a normal person, just like them. I live a life of leisure. I am relatable.” 

“But none of that is true.” 

“Exactly. See? That’s how it works.” 

Keith sighs, feeling exhausted. “That’s so fucked up.” 

“Mhmm.” Lance says cooly. “So, I’m going to hang up now, because clearly this was just a case of you missing me too much.” 

“What? No, that’s not--” Keith’s head could be steaming, he so riled up. “Look I just wanted to plan our next step and--”

“Hunk said something about an apology?” Lance practically purrs it, voice cocky. “Got something to say, Kogane?” 

Keith sputters. “ _ God _ , no. Fuck you. Just--” He shakes his head furiously. “Just meet at Empire at 2AM, alright?” 

“I’ll be counting the minutes.” Lance says, cool as a fucking cucumber. “Toodles.” He hangs up. 

Keith stares at his phone, heat still in his cheeks. He scowls. Lance was so mad at him last night and now it’s like nothing happened. He finds himself wondering how many times Lance has had to pretend everything was okay, when it really wasn’t.  

It’s a  _ useless _  thought because he doesn’t even give a shit about Lance--someone that shallow probably doesn’t even have to work very hard to cover anything. 

But still.

He wonders it anyway. 

 

><><><><><

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the story unfolds...
> 
> expect more backstory on their families in the next few chapters--just wanted to establish their relationship first. 
> 
> honestly if i were keith id already be in love with lance but thats just because im weak af
> 
> thanks for reading!


	4. Ferrari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A turning point of sorts. lots of heart to hearts. keith is kind of a hot mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was 198% self indulgent and I enjoyed writing every word of it 
> 
> love you guys, sorry ive been MIA. new season coming out soon and im hypeddd! it inspired me to kick my ass into gear and write this chapter for you. we will suffer through this season together, friends. love <3 
> 
> disclaimer: i did not edit this...like, at all

“So how long did you stalk my instagram?” Lance asks obnoxiously after ordering his drink. It’s 2AM and the bar is packed. “I’m sure you got all the way back to 2013. That was a nice year for me, huh? I liked that haircut.” Lance literally hasn’t stopped blabbering since they met up at Empire. Keith is ready to thumb his eyes out. 

“I only saw  _ one _ picture.” Keith defends for the thousandth time. “Can you let it go already? 

Lance sniffs lightly at his drink, wrinkling his nose a little. It’s the third time Keith has seen him do that, which makes him think that Lance doesn’t even like alcohol at all. Why does he always drink it? Lance takes a small sip, still smiling a little smugly. “You followed me, Kogane. You are a  _ follower _ .” 

“I’m not.” Keith argues. “Not willingly, anyway.” 

“Then why, pray tell, is your username under the ‘Followers’ section of my instagram?” Lance’s eyes are twinkling as he faces Keith. God, he is loving this. Keith scowls. 

“It’s not my fault you’re a slacker. We have work to do and I need to make sure you carry your weight.” 

“Right.” And Lance is  _ still _ smiling. “You keep telling yourself that.” 

“Can we please focus?” Keith snaps, feeling that familiar embarrassed flush filling his cheeks and he doesn’t even know why. 

Lance nods. “Right. Sure.” He clears his throat, glancing at the empty space in front of Keith’s folded hands. “You not drinking anything?” 

Keith shrugs. “I don’t drink.” He says. 

“Why not?” 

“Don’t like how it tastes.” Keith says plainly. “Don’t like how it makes me feel.”

“And how’s that?” 

Keith hesitates. “Foggy.” 

Lance hums, and he actually look mildly curious, maybe even a little put off, by Keith’s answer. “Oh.” He says, a little out of character.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything else. He just subtly pushes his drink a little further away from himself, which Keith doesn’t fail to notice. 

And Keith wants to ask if Lance is still mad at him because of the other night--which is such a  _ bizarre _ question because Lance  _ hates _ him, doesn’t he? That technically means he’s mad at him all the time. So it doesn’t really make any sense that Keith keeps wondering--

“So, Keith, you said you had a new lead?” Lance asks, looking away from his drink and directly at him. “Where will your brilliant mind lead us next?” It sounds sarcastic, but Keith decides to take it as a compliment. 

“Sendak said something about an airline pilot.” Keith says. 

“That he did.” Lance agrees, somehow not understanding. 

“An  _ airline pilot. _ ” Keith repeats. “Didn’t you...know one?” 

Lance frowns at him in confusion. The dim light of the bar bathes his face in a red-orange glow. To Keith’s surprise, Lance’s eyes still look just as blue, even in the darkness. Maybe Lance doesn’t wear colored contacts after all. “I don’t...wait, do you mean Hayden?” 

Keith swallows. Lance doesn’t sound very convinced. “Yeah...did you know him?” 

Lance turns away. “Yeah.” He says, suddenly very interested in his drink again. Keith sighs quietly through his nose. 

“Lance.”

“What?”

“Come on.” 

“Come on  _ what? _ ”

“You have to talk to me. Tell me what you know.” 

Lance is frowning slightly. He opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He closes it. With irritated eyes, he glances around at the crowd, which is closing in on them more and more. 

“Can’t we go somewhere else?” Lance complains, changing the subject. “I’m sick of meeting here. It...smells.” He has a twisted look on his face. Keith rolls his eyes.

“You’ll get recognized literally anywhere else.” 

“I just--” Lance groans frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not a very good place to talk.” He looks incredibly uncomfortable. It’s not really a pleasant look for him. Keith guesses it may be because of the topic of conversation. 

Unexpectedly, Keith finds himself humming in agreement. “Well, do you have another place in mind?” 

Lance takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Keith watches his body deflate slightly. “Yeah…” He says, and it sounds a lot like defeat. “Yeah...follow me.” 

 

><><><><><

 

When they pull up to their destination, it isn’t at all what Keith was expecting. In fact, he suddenly feels monstrously out of place. While Empire is a place where Keith feels right at home, this place feels like a different continent. They only drove an hour or so but it is very clear that they have left Keith’s world and entered Lance’s; because the mansion that sits before them is not only intimidating in size but placed right on the shoreline what is probably a gorgeous beach. 

It’s dark, but Keith can hear the waves when he steps out of the car. 

Large marble columns decorate the porch like any very cliche mansion you’d see, literally anywhere. The double doors are adorned with beautiful glass windows and large flower arrangements accent every corner, although wilting a little from neglect. 

Lance scans the mansion up and down and Keith watches, unsure of what to say. Lance looks a little lost in thought, like he’s second guessing himself and debating on whether or not he should leave. Keith always feels uncomfortable when Lance is being so...regular. 

Keith clears his throat. Sometimes he thinks nothing would get done if he wasn’t around. “Is this your house?” He asks, voice muffled by the wind and the crashing sound of the waves. 

Lance swallows. “I guess it...technically is.” He says hesitantly. 

“What do you mean?” 

A long, silence goes by before Lance starts walking towards the front door. Keith follows behind him. 

“It was Hayden’s.” Lance finally says. Keith strains his ears to hear him. “He...left it for me. You know. In his will.” 

“What?” 

Lance moves a sculpture on the porch aside and the lifts one of the floor tiles, revealing a key. “I never keep my key on me but he always keeps one here.” He says, unlocking the door. He pauses and turns around then, looking back at Keith’s probably shocked expression. 

“Everything alright, Kogane?” He asks. It sounds like it’s supposed to be snarky, but falls a little flat. “You’re looking paler than usual.” 

“Hayden left you a  _ mansion _ ?” Keith asks incredulously as they step into the foyer. He can already hear his voice echoing in the giant room. “I didn’t realize you were that close with him.” 

The door shuts behind them and Lance flicks the light on. Everywhere is marble and ceramic and gold. Keith has to fight not to gasp out loud. He’s no stranger to snazzy high rises and a privileged lifestyle, but this kind of classic beauty is something he’s never really seen in person and it’s--

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Lance asks. There is a small sadness in his smug voice. “Hayden always wanted a house different from everyone elses. He was... _ is… _ ” Lance’s brow furrows. “...particular like that.” He turns to Keith, seeming to snap out of whatever reverie he was riding. “Want something to drink or something? There should be Mountain Dew in here from like, 2014.” He pushes past Keith and keeps walking, not even allowing Keith to get one single word in. Keith stands for a moment, soaking in the view one more time before chasing after him. 

“Wait, so you were like,  _ close _ with this Hayden guy?” He asks, and cringes a little at how insensitive it sounds. He’s not sure when he started caring about being sensitive to Lance’s feelings. But that’s an issue for another time. “I mean, he left you something  _ huge _ in his will.” 

They walk into a kitchen that is probably the size of Keith’s entire apartment. Lance opens the fridge and scans it with a frown on his face. “Yeah.” He says. “We were close.” 

“How close?” 

“Like ‘he-practically-raised-me’ close.” Lance says, sounding bored. “Hey, we should cook something.” 

“Stop changing the subject.” 

“I’m not!” Lance says defensively. “I’m just hungry. I can’t be interrogated on an empty stomach.” 

Keith scowls. “I’m not... _ interrogating _ you.” 

“Oh really?” 

“I’m trying to have a human conversation with you and you’re not cooperating!” 

“Because I’m  _ hungry _ .” Lance says plainly, regarding Keith with the same blank eyes that Keith remembers from the roof, the first time they fought. And damn, Keith always thought that  _ he _ was bad when it came to avoiding emotions, but Lance is proving to be ten times more difficult. 

“Lance, would you just--” 

“How about eggs?” 

“Lance.”

“I think there may be a toaster somewhere--” 

Keith growls. “ _ Lance. _ ” 

“Or we could do pasta?” 

“Why are you so infuriating?” Keith exclaims. “Do you want to find your dad or not?” 

“I do.” 

“Then _ talk to me _ .” 

“After I eat.”

“Oh my-- _ fine _ . I’m going outside.” Keith bites, clenching his hands into fists and marching towards the sliding door at the back of the kitchen, which he hopes leads somewhere outside. He slides it open and then slams it shut, suddenly enveloped in the darkness of the 3AM sky, the static sound of waves, the taste of saltwater and wet sand. 

Keith breathes it in. 

Then out. 

In. 

Then out again. 

He’s so sick of fighting with Lance. 

He really thought it would be easier by now. That there would be some development, if any, in their relationship. But maybe you can’t learn to work with someone you spent so much time hating. Maybe this entire thing was doomed from the start, and Shiro will never get another chance at his dream, and Keith will have to go back to rotting away in his apartment, shoving his unemployed head into the drywall. 

He can’t help it. Lance behaves like such a child. It’s absolutely ridiculous. He is impossible to deal with. Keith should've left that night, at the diner. He should’ve gotten up and left Lance in the dust. This isn’t his fight to fight and this isn’t his problem, so why is he working so hard to find the answer? Frustration builds in his chest. How is he supposed to believe that Lance is a person with thoughts and  _ feelings _ and opinions of his own, if he doesn’t actually  _ say anything _ but snarky comments and horrible attempts at flirting? How is Keith supposed to respect someone like that? His nails dig into his palms as he continues to stand outside the door, body wavering slightly with the beachy breeze. 

Every time he tries to talk to Lance, they end up fighting. Every damn time. Because Lance refuses to open up about anything. Because he’s a  _ dick _ . Because he’s selfish and  _ cruel _ and shallow and--

And…

Because…

Keith hasn’t opened up, either. 

Keith’s fists unclench. 

The knot in his chest starts to loosen, slowly and carefully. 

He can hear his dad’s voice, somewhere in the back of his mind. He can hear the smile in it, as he handed Keith the keychain with the lion’s tooth.  _ “When I think of that lion, I think of you.” _ He had said.  _ “Tough. And Fearless. But most importantly...Loving.” _

Most importantly...

Keith sighs. Maybe being tough and fearless doesn’t mean much if you don’t have the third quality too. 

He glances at the door and sees Lance in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. 

He swallows hard. 

Maybe he’s been approaching this all wrong. 

 

><><><><><

 

When Keith walks back into the kitchen, Lance is still cooking. He has his back turned towards the door. Keith takes a moment to notice the slight slump in his shoulders. He’s in a simple white button down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and gray slacks. Does he just dress formally all the time? Is that what you have to do when people will recognize you everywhere you go? 

Keith feels a small pang of sympathy, somewhere deep within his gut. 

Lance hasn’t shown any sign of awareness that Keith has entered the room again. 

A deep breath. 

“My dad is dead, Lance.” The words taste sour on his tongue. They sting and burn as they hang in the air, blistering and painful from years of burying it inside, beneath the numbness and the denial. He feels like his chest has been cracked wide open. 

Lance’s shoulders tense significantly and he stops stirring whatever is in the pot on the stove. He turns around halfway, carefully. His eyes look extremely confused when they meet Keith’s. “What?” 

“My dad died. When I was eighteen.” It feels like bile in this throat. “I-I mean….honestly, he basically died long before that but…you know.” He’s pretty sure Lance  _ doesn’t _ know. “I just thought I’d tell you because...there  _ is _ more than one reason why I...want to help you.” Keith clears his throat, feeling the expected heat prickling at the corners of his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and wills it away, taking a shuddering breath. 

He feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. 

But maybe his dad would be proud of him...for opening up like this. Maybe.

Lance is blinking at him, looking shocked. The spoon in his hand is starting to slip out of his limp grip. He lowers his arm to his side. “Oh.” He says sadly. “I’m…” He trails off. 

And for the first time ever, Lance looks completely, totally, and utterly humbled. 

Keith watches as Lance bites worriedly at his lip, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He turns fully towards Keith. “Eighteen?” He asks, voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Yeah.” Keith replies, watching Lance set down the spoon on the granite countertop and start walking in his direction. “Yeah...happened straight out of high school.” 

Lance is standing directly in front of him now, only a couple feet away. The typically flat and emotionless blue of Lance’s eyes now looks cloudy. Stormy. Like there are layers and layers of color there that Keith had never seen before. And freckles. So many freckles. 

Lance swallows. “Keith--”

“So, I get it.” Keith says, not wanting to hear any kind of sympathy from anyone,  _ especially _ not Lance Martinez of all people. “I know your dad might not be dead, and Hayden might not be dead, but it’s...still a loss, Lance.” He clears his throat a little awkwardly. “And I get it, okay? I’m not a monster.” 

Lance stares, unmoving. 

Keith thinks that if he pokes him, he may fall over. 

The shock on Lance’s face makes Keith wonder if anyone has ever really, truly been honest with him. About anything at all. Keith didn’t grow up in Hollywood, but the more time he spends with Lance, the more he uncovers what it must have been like. 

After what feels like an entire minute, Keith clears his throat yet again. “So. Will you let me help you, please?” 

Lance lets out a breath and nods slowly. “Yeah.” He says quietly. And then, “Yeah, m’sorry.” Keith doesn’t know if he’s saying sorry for his behavior, or for his loss, or for anything at all really. But he takes it and runs with it. 

“Should we go sit outside? It’s nice out there.” He suggests. 

“Yeah.” Lance agrees. “Let me just turn off the stove.” A pause. “Do you...want some spaghetti?” 

Keith, bizzarley, feels the corner of his lip twitch upwards. “Sure.” 

 

><><><><><

 

The spaghetti is from a box that probably expired two years ago. Similarly, the sauce was well past its date as well. Lance just tossed it and put some olive oil, salt, and pepper on their pasta instead. 

And for some reason, Keith thinks it tastes pretty amazing. He can’t even remember the last time he ate. He knows he’s eaten over the past few days, but sometimes when that numb feeling takes over, he falls into foggy place where he doesn’t really think anything is worth remembering.  

But sitting on this stone patio, smelling seawater, feeling the light breeze in his hair and tasting the savory taste of olive oil in his mouth, Keith absurdly thinks that this feeling may be worth remembering. 

It’s not the same rush he gets from the fear of sitting on the edge of a building. 

It’s a...different kind of fear. A vulnerable one. One that Keith hasn’t felt in a while. 

“I haven’t actually been out here in years.” Lance says, finishing up the last bite of his pasta and pushing his plate out onto the small table in front of them. He stretches his legs out and rests them there, leaning back in his seat. “It’s still exactly the same.” His arms cross over his chest as he observes the pitch black water in front of them. 

“Yeah?” Keith replies, not knowing what else to say. 

Lance is silent for another moment. The sound of the waves are so close, Keith can hear them practically flooding his ears. 

“Hayden was my dad’s best friend.” Lance finally says. “Never made any sense to me though, because he was so...you know. Down to earth and stuff. And my dad was...not.” 

Keith makes sure not to speak and ruin this. 

“But they were friends since childhood. I think they met in first grade or something? My dad’s family wasn’t very well off so they lived in a bad part of town for a while but….I guess that’s how they became so close. You know. They relied on each other.” 

Keith hums, chewing his pasta. 

“So I guess at some point, my dad was probably down to earth. But it was years before I knew him.” Lance sighs. “Anyway, Hayden was the closest thing to a brother than my dad had. I called him ‘uncle’ all my life.” 

Keith nods slowly. “So...he became a pilot?” 

“Yeah. He had really different goals from my dad. Wanted to be in the military for a while because he loved flying. I’m not sure what changed, though. I think my dad gave him more promise of money, probably. Because he knew celebrities. Lots of them. And nothing makes more money than flying celebrities around, so.” 

“Right.” 

“Anyway. Hayden was always different from anyone in my family. I spent more time in this place with him than I did at home with my parents. He would leave for days at a time to fly, and even then, I still saw him more.” Lance’s voice is bitter. “He treated me like a kid, you know? Not the kid of a celebrity, just a kid.” 

Keith can see the small bit of light starting to reflect on the surface of the water. They are probably about to watch the sun rise. 

“Was he emotionally unhinged? Like all the articles say?” Keith asks sarcastically. Lance snorts. 

“He was a weird guy, I can get behind that.” He says, a small smile playing on his lips. Keith glances down at it without thinking. “But a murderer? No fucking way. Hayden would never hurt a fly, and  _ especially _ not my dad. They were inseparable. Even when the fame got to my dad’s head.” 

Keith hums. “Yeah, those articles are bullshit anyway. My dad was a journalist and I could just  _ feel _ him cringing as I read through them.” He brought it up in a lighthearted way, feeling okay because of the weight of his earlier confession. Out of the corner of his eye, he feels Lance looking at him. 

The calming sound of the waves continues to fill the space between them. Keith can hear the lingering question, and he can tell that Lance is hesitating to ask it. 

Lance finally says, “How did it happen?” He sounds careful. “With...your dad?”

It’s not the most graceful way to ask the question, but Keith can imagine Lance hasn’t been in many situations like this. He’s never had to have this conversation with someone, and the people who had this conversation with  _ him _ after the plane crash were paparazzi from Hollywood so...probably just as blunt. 

Keith clears his throat. “Lou Gehrig's disease.” He says, voice wavering a little. “Or. You know. ALS. He...only lived about two years after his diagnosis.” 

“Jesus.” 

Keith wraps his arms around himself, trying not to fall into the dark pit he tends to fall into when he remembers. “It was fast. Really fast. But...yeah, also way too slow.” 

Lance swallows. The dim light from the rising sun starting to dust along the high points of his cheeks. “Yeah.” He breathes. 

And it hurts like hell. Keith’s heart feels like there are metal spikes closing in on it, at all angles. He did just tell his sworn, mortal enemy one of the most meaningful and  _ painful _ parts of his past; so he has the right to be having a bit of trouble coping. 

But Lance is looking at him with about seven different blues in his eyes, and Keith finds himself feeling a little guilty for thinking they were ever fake. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” Lance says. And it sounds genuinely apologetic. It sounds sad. It sounds...human. 

Keith nods, looking out onto the now-illuminated water. “Thanks.” He says back quietly. 

And they sit like that for a bit longer, just watching the water. Listening to the birds that have suddenly started singing. Tracking the sun as it rises higher and higher up into the sky. 

After a couple of minutes, Lance scoffs a little. When Keith turns to look at him, there is a small smirk playing on his lips. But it looks softer than the regular, infuriating one Keith is used to seeing. “Damn. If I knew we were having a heart-to-heart I would’ve brought out the expired chocolate that I found in the pantry.” 

Keith really doesn’t want to have an ironically touching moment with  _ this _ boy of all people, but today has been upside-down anyway, so there’s no point in trying to return to normalcy now. “Nah, we didn’t need chocolate.” He says with a small smile. “The spaghetti was just fine.” 

 

><><><><><

 

Keith’s attempt at opening up wasn’t a magic potion that made Lance start being a tolerable person, but in his opinion, it was at least a start. 

After the sun comes up, they both eye each other tiredly and decide to call it a night Lance has about a million events to go to and Keith really just needed to sleep. Just the thought of Lance having a day full of work after not sleeping all night makes Keith feel nauseous. 

“You can’t like, say  _ no _ to any of them?” He asks. 

Lance snorts, standing up and starting to clear his plate. “And rob the world of  _ this _ beautiful face?” He asks snarkily, gesturing towards himself. “Well, that’s just unfair to the general population. And I’m a giving person, Kogane.” 

Yup, he’s back. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“You didn’t even sleep for an hour.” He argues. 

“Not the first time this has happened, contrary to what you may think.” Lance replies. “Living in luxury doesn't really mean relaxation. Work is work.” The sliding door shuts as he walks into the kitchen, leaving Keith outside. Keith sighs, feeling exhausted. There’s only so much decency Lance can project before he has to shut down again, apparently. 

Keith reaches into his pocket, feeling the weight of his father’s keychain in his hand. He sends a small ‘thank you’ to somewhere above him. Somewhere in the sky, where he tries to believe his father still exists. 

Because Lance may not be his friend, not even an  _ acquaintance _ , but...he isn’t really an enemy anymore, either. 

Progress. It’s all about progress. 

“So, what  _ are _ your plans today?” Keith asks as he steps in side the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. Lance is in front of the skin, scrubbing at the pot he used to cook the pasta. Does Lance do chores? Keith didn’t think any famous people did chores. 

Lance hums, sounding amused. “Who wants to know?” 

Keith frowns. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m just…” He trails off. 

Lance turns around and raises an eyebrow. The cocky smile twitching into place has Keith scowling even more. “You’re just…?” 

“Curious.” Keith answers, wincing a little. Not the best word to use. “I mean, like, about...what celebrities do. Daily.” Oh man, that sounded even worse. His heart pounds away stupidly in his chest.  _ Why _ is it doing that? 

Lance shuts off the water and turns around, small smile slowly turning into a shit-eating grin. “Oh yeah?” He laughs a little breathlessly, drying his hands off with the towel on the counter. “Why not just check my instagram? You  _ are _ a follower, after all.” 

“You said everything on there was fake.” Keith snaps back. 

“I did, didn’t I? Hm, I gotta start keeping track of who I lie to.” Lance shrugs carelessly, tossing the towel aside. 

Keith sighs through his nose. “That’s encouraging.” He grumbles sarcastically. “So? What are your plans?” 

Lance looks contemplatively at the ceiling. “Well, I’ve gotta meet Hunk to go over a new itinerary for the show. I think I may be touring soon..or something. There is a movie premier for...oh god, I don’t even remember. But I always have to go to movie premieres.” He taps his chin, humming. “I am having a pre-orchestrated lunch with one of the actresses from that movie, but it’s just a ploy to get paparazzi to take shots of us together. You know, headlines and all that. Oh! I have a personal training appointment. It’s the first one of the week.” 

“Personal training?” Keith suddenly has the urge to look at Lance’s body. “You don’t...look like you need it.” Jesus, he’s really not winning today, is he? 

“Well maybe that’s  _ because _ I go to the gym for two hours a day.” 

“Two  _ hours _ ?”

“I’m  _ telling _ you, it’s part of the job.” Lance says, but he looks fondly amused by Keith’s shock. “Did you think I was just  _ born _ this hot?”

Keith frowns. “I guess not.”

Lance’s eyebrow raises sightly. “So, I was right, then, wasn’t I?” He leans against the counter casually. 

“Right about what?” 

“You  _ do _ find me just as attractive as I find you.” Lance says, flashing a smile so charming that his dimples are on full display. “I knew it.” 

Keith sputters. “What--? I--” He groans. “I never even--! I didn’t even  _ say-- _ ” He huffs, grabbing his coat. “I’m out of here.” 

“Oh, because  _ that _ reaction  _ totally _ has me thinking you’re not into me!” Lance calls sarcastically behind him. 

“ _ Goodbye _ , Lance.” Keith says gruffly, pushing out the ridiculously ornate front door. He can hear Lance giggling from far away as the door shuts, and that obnoxious heat is back in his cheeks, making him more frustrated than ever. He’s decides to walk a few blocks and have the uber pick him up from a less recognizable location. He needs the fresh air anyway. 

 

><><><><><

 

It’s ten minutes into the uber drive when Keith distantly realizes that he just went an entire night without feeling numb. 

Not even once. 

 

><><><><><

 

Admittedly, the first thing Keith does when he gets home is look up gym memberships. 

He’s always been someone who cared about his physical fitness because you can’t do exciting and dangerous things if you can’t physically handle it. But Shiro used to be his...work out buddy and ever since he moved away Keith hasn’t really been working all that hard to stay in shape. He’s still got a relatively built body--compact muscle and the ghost of a 4-pack hanging on for dear life. 

His phone rings. 

Huh. Speaking of Shiro. 

“Hello?” Keith greets, while reading through the terms and conditions of an LA Fitness membership. 

“Hey, man.” Shiro says, sounding fond. “What have you been up to?”

That’s a loaded question. “I’m looking at gym memberships.” Keith says, wrinkling his nose at how normal it sounds. 

Shiro laughs incredulously. “What?” 

“I just haven’t worked out in a while. Thought it’d be good to get back into it. Maybe I can meet with a trainer.” 

“A trainer? You mean like, a personal one?” 

“Yeah. To help with...progress and stuff.” What does a personal trainer even do? There is so much about this that Keith doesn’t know. “I mean, it’s Los Angeles. Everyone here has a trainer.” 

On the other end of the phone, Shiro is completely silent. Keith sits up a little, pressing the phone to his ear. “Uh...hello?” He says dumbly. 

“You...Are you alright?” Shiro asks, sounding as a loss. 

“What? Yes, I’m fine.” 

“Because right now you’re telling me you... _ want _ to be like the people in LA.” He sounds like he’s holding back a laugh. “ _ You _ .”

“No, that’s not...I just want to be fit.” 

“You  _ are _ fit.” 

“Well yeah but, I mean, I don’t work out for like...two hours a day.” 

Shiro snorts. “Well yeah but only insane celebrities who don’t have  _ lives _ do that.” 

“I...don’t have a life right now though…?” Keith leans back, flopping into the couch in a moment of clarity. “Yeah...this is a little random.” He admits to himself. 

“I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Shiro says, in the same tired voice he always uses when Keith is about to admit getting into trouble. “ _ Actually _ , is everything okay?” 

Keith debates telling Shiro what’s going on. About spending time with Lance and helping him find his father, who may not actually be dead. He thinks about telling Shiro that he just spent the night on the patio, eating old spaghetti with  _ Lance fucking Martinez _ and watching the sun rise. But it all just seems so personal, for some reason. And someday he will tell Shiro, and Shiro will freak about because apparently he’s a huge fan, and Lance will maybe even help Shiro launch his career. That was part of the deal, after all.

But Keith just says, “Nothing exciting. Just looking for jobs that...involve less illegal things.” It’s a white lie, okay? “And trying to get fit.” 

Shiro hums, but sounds unconvinced. Alright. “ He says. “Let me know if you get in any trouble?” 

Keith rolls his eyes but nods. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Shiro laughs lightly. “Alright bud. Hopefully I can some visit soon.” 

“That’d be great.” Keith says. 

“By the way, have you called mom yet?” 

Keith swallows. “No…” His hand clenches the phone slightly. “I...can’t.”

“Keith--”

“I have to go, okay? But...I’ll call you later.” 

A tired sigh. “Keith.” 

“Bye Shiro.” Keith hangs up, hands shaking slightly as he lets him phone fall onto the couch. 

He knows that he needs to talk to his mom. It’s been such a long time, and Keith can already feel the close connection he has with his family starting to fade faster and faster every day. 

His mother used to be one of the strongest people Keith had ever known. He looked up to her, and was even intimidated by her for a majority of his life. She was always the strict parent--while Keith’s father was the “fun” one. His mother was the one that sat him down at the kitchen table every night to make sure he did his homework. She inspected his room to make sure it was always clean. She always sent her food back in restaurants and raised hell when things weren't done exactly her way. Being the only woman in an office full of men, she adopted a driven  personality that required her to be hard on those around her in order to move up in her career. Tough as nails, determined, and strong as hell. 

When Keith’s father died, Keith was convinced that his mother died, too. 

She withered away. Her strong willpower deteriorated. Her visions for her career vanished. She became less than half the woman she was before. 

And Keith was so incredibly  _ angry _ at her for it. 

It’s a horrible way to feel--but Keith feels it anyway. Like she let him down. Like she should’ve been strong for the rest of the family, but failed. And it’s twisted, and sick, and completely unfair. Because the man that she loved just disappeared before her very eyes and Keith lost him too, so he knows how tough it is. He knows how horrible and heartbreaking and hollow it feels. And his mother should be allowed to feel those things too. 

But Keith can’t shake the frustration. The  _ anger _ \--the feeling that his mother is somehow  _ selfish _ for choosing not to be strong. For crumbling with heartbreak and leaving Keith and Shiro to pick up the pieces. Because as someone who has always been the symbol of unmovable strength in Keith’s life, watching his mother wither away feels terrifyingly close to watching his father wither away. And losing one parent was enough. He didn’t need to lose two. 

It’s been years since the death of his father, but his mother still isn’t at all who she used to be. She is functioning, but not nearly the same way. They’ve talked on and off after Keith left home, but the bitterness he carries in his chest just seems to have built a wall that neither of them can get past anymore.

So, in his head, it’s a big, disgusting mess. 

And he just doesn’t want to call her. 

His phone buzzes and he picks it up, absurdly relieved to see a text message from Lance. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Hey good lookin’  _

 

_ I think i may have found something weird--meet at yours, 2am _

 

Keith immediately twists his face into a painful scowl when he catches himself smiling. 

 

><><><><><

 

Lance is in the most understated undercover outfit yet; he walks into Keith’s apartment in black sweats and a white snapback, lowered to cover his face. It’s not doing a very good job at hiding who he is, but apparently it worked because he made it to Keith’s apartment without any commotion. Keith wonders if Lance wears those sweats to personal training, which is an extremely dumb thing to wonder. But it’s intrusive and he can’t help it. 

Lance shuts the door behind him and huffs, slipping his hat off and ruffling his hair. It’s free of styling product today, and looks a little floppier than usual. Every time Keith sees Lance, he looks a little more like a boy and a little less like a plastic mannequin. It’s like a block of ice beginning to thaw, drop by drop. 

Keith tries to think of what his dad would have done if he ever met Lance. His dad was passionate about finding the truth about everything, and therefore rarely believed his first impression of someone. He probably would have showed compassion. He probably would have asked all the right questions in all the right ways. He wouldn’t have groundlessly despised Lance for years based solely on surface level judgements. The Lance his father would’ve uncovered would probably be much more cooperative than the Lance Keith has managed to piss off more often than not. But Keith really wants to try thinking like his father, and he’s already made a step forward to do so. 

Maybe he’s a little less graceful or charming than his dad, but empathy can be learned, right? Even with someone as infuriating as Lance can be. 

Lance tosses hit hat onto the couch and looks around at the apartment, pursing his lips. Keith lifts an eyebrow. “What?” He asks, sounding a little too self conscious. 

“Nothing, it’s just...you cleaned up.” He hums appreciatively. “You have a nice place, when it’s not destroyed.” 

“Thanks.” 

Lance flops down onto the couch. “Alright. Down to business.” he says, putting his backpack onto his lap and reaching into it. 

Keith is especially exhausted tonight. He ended up meeting with a personal trainer and it was much, much harder than he originally thought it would be. After his session he stayed an extra hour just burning himself out because...apparently one hour isn’t enough for some people.  

It doesn’t help that the minute he got home he deep cleaned his entire apartment. He’s just so desperate to keep busy. He wants to avoid the numb feeling as much as possible. It’s been a while since he snapped and did something absolutely insane, which he takes an somewhat of an improvement. Even though he does crave the feeling, and misses it a lot. 

And now all of his muscles are sore and he’s sleepier than he’s been in a really long time. He knows from when he used to work out with Shiro that he always slept a lot better after going to the gym, but now he can feel how heavy his eyelids are and he stares lazily at Lance, who seems to be very focused despite the late hour. 

“So after you left, I stayed the night in Hayden’s house.” A pause. “Well, my house, I guess. Anyway, I wanted to find some slippers because I had forgotten mine, and I knew that somewhere in Hayden’s closet, he  _ had _ to have some old slippers. And I can’t walk around without slippers, you know? My bare feet should never touch the ground.” 

Lance is talking so fast. Keith can barely keep up. And if he wasn’t so exhausted, he would’ve rolled his eyes at that remark. “Okay? So?” 

Lance continues fishing through his bag. Keith sinks into the couch, feeling like all of his limbs are heavier than usual. He turns towards Lance and rests his cheek on the back of the couch. Lance finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out. “I went into Hayden’s closet to get the slippers and I just kind of started digging around. I mean...it’s been a while since I’ve been in that house so...yeah. Anyway, I ended up accidentally finding this.” He holds out a small, brown leather wallet that looks like it’s stuffed to the brim. “And by ‘accidentally’ I mean that I pulled a shirt off the top shelf and this fell on my head with it.” 

Keith reaches out and takes the wallet. It’s a little heavier than he was expecting. 

“Wait until you see what’s in it.” Lance mumbles, brows furrowed in concentration as he opens it up. Keith watches his face distantly, sleepiness making his brain feel fuzzy. 

The wallet falls open and about twenty folded up papers spill out onto the couch in front of them. Keith looks down, stunned. “What are these?” 

Lance swallows. “I’m not entirely sure, but…” He unfolds one of the papers, revealing a black and white photo. Not just a photo, but a photocopy of someone’s driver’s license. It’s a blonde woman who looks like she’s in her late thirties. The name reads “Bobby Jackson”. 

Next to the photocopy is a column of messily scrawled notes in pen: 

 

_ 36 years old  _

_ Drowned while on vacation  _

_ Gulf of Mexico  _

_ 6/4/14 at 8:42PM _

_ Witnesses: 4  _

_ Suspects: 3 _

_ Known in area: 7  _

_ Details: orange skirt, blue beaded bracelet found on shore, indigo flip flop sandal partially buried in sand 72 hours after death  _

 

Keith blinks at the paper. “What the  _ fuck _ ?” He says, at a loss. There is an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Yeah…” Lance says. “She was a famous actress, just like my dad. She died four years ago. I just...don’t know why Hayden would... _ write _ this stuff, like--” 

“I’m so lost.” Keith says. “ _ Where _ did he get a photocopy of her ID?”

Lance shakes his head, unfolding another paper. “This one is Gary Vinche. You know Gary?” Lance asks. Keith shakes his head. “He was an internationally renowned singer. Died three years ago from a heart attack. All the same info is on this one.” Lance has a twisted look on his face. “Why was Hayden  _ keeping track _ of celebrities who died?” His voice sounds a little shaky. “Like, why does he  _ know _ all this stuff about them?” 

They start to work together and unfold every piece of paper in the wallet. Each piece contains the same two things--a photocopy and a small column of information. Five minutes later, they have unfolded thirty-two pieces. 

“Jesus.” Keith huffs. His heart races as he scans over the black and white photos. He shamefully realizes that  _ this _ is the kind of fear that he misses. His nerves buzz. He feels alive. “Is there some kind of connection between these people? I mean, other than the fact that they’re all dead now?” He looks up at Lance, grasping for any kind of answer. But Lance is white as a sheet, looking down with wide eyes at the paper clasped in his hands. 

“Lance?” Keith asks. “What is it?” 

Lance swallows hard. “It’s...it doesn’t mean anything.” 

“What’s going on?” 

Lance sighs shakily, lowering his head before flipping the sheet over. “It’s...my dad.” He says quietly. “There’s one for my dad.” 

They both sit in tense silence. Keith doesn’t know what to say. Lance pulls his long legs from the ground up to his chest, folding his knees neatly under his chin and leaning down on them. “Fuck.” He whispers. 

“Lance…” Keith says, trying to keep his voice gentle. He can’t  _ believe _ he’s going to say what he’s about to, but he has a feeling deep within his gut that there is something much more elaborate behind this than Lance thinks. “Just because all of these other people are dead, doesn’t mean your dad is too.” He’s not sure if he even believes himself, so Lance probably won’t believe him either. 

“I dunno, Kogane.” Lance mumbles. “Those stupid reporters may have been right. Maybe he  _ was _ just a fucked up guy. And maybe it just...killed both of them. And all of these people, too.” 

Keith frowns. “You think Hayden killed these people?” 

Lance scowls. “Duh. How could he know so much about them? How did he get access to their IDs? There’s no other explanation.” 

“There are a million other explanations.”    
“Well we can’t ask him  _ now _ , can we?” Lance snaps, clearly getting frustrated. 

“Lance, you grew up with this man. Did he  _ seem _ like a serial killer?” Keith asks, doubtful. “Don’t just jump to the most dramatic conclusion. People do...crazy things when they’re bored.”

“Hayden wasn’t like you.” Lance says, sounding disgusted. Keith flinches a little. “He wasn’t like you, or my dad, he was just a  _ normal guy _ .”  

Every time Keith thinks they’ve made progress, he’s shot down. 

Lance will never fully respect Keith, because of how he is. He will never fully trust Keith. He will always have this grudge, somewhere deep inside of him, telling him that Keith is a monster. Who knows what kinds of horrible things his father did to make him feel that way? Keith starts feeling discouraged. 

“ _ Normal guys _ do crazy things when they’re bored, too.” Keith grits through his teeth. “You don’t know what caused him to do this, so stop assuming the worst.”

“I’ve spent so long believing that my dad isn’t dead.” Lance says. “And now that he--” 

“Stop.” Keith doesn’t know why he’s so determined for this not to be over. “This is a lot of information at once and we’re going to find out what it means.” 

Lance looks at him wearily. “Look, I know that you, like...get off on this or whatever. But this is my life. And I’m not going to hurt myself more if I don’t have to.”

At this, Keith stands up, temper starting to bubble beneath his skin. “ _ Jesus _ , Lance, shut the fuck up.” He snaps, suddenly feeling very awake. “We were just starting to get along.” 

“I just found out my dad might  _ actually _ be dead.” Lance bites, eyes seething. “The gig is up. I don’t want to find out anymore. But this is all just some big game to you. Just like everything  _ always _ was with him.”  

“It’s not a game to me. I  _ told you _ why I actually care. I know what it’s like to lose my dad, you asshole.” 

Lance scoffs. “Please. You just want to get high off the mystery of it all. I know what you’re doing and you can’t keep pretending to give a shit.” 

Keith is completely horrified by the dramatic shift in Lance’s character. “Excuse me?”

“All you care about is getting your fix! You’re an  _ addict _ , just like he was. And you’ll do anything to get what you want, even if it means working with someone you despise on a dead-end case.” Lance is standing up too, now. His cheeks are flushed with anger. Keith has never seen an expression like that on his face before. He’s usually so calm and collected, even in the worst circumstances. “This search is over now! Go find your fix somewhere else.” 

“I swear to  _ god-- _ ” Keith begins to curse frustratedly, and Lance interrupts him. 

“I bet you want to punch me now, too!’ He accuses. “You can’t wait to get into a fight with me. You’re  _ into _ it!”

“I’m not!” Keith raises his voice, leaning in closer. His heart thuds and thuds, jackhammering against his ribcage. “I was just trying to  _ help _ . God, you’re  _ horrible _ !” 

“Well then it’s a good thing you were right about me.” Lance snarls, gathering all the papers. “I really  _ am _ nothing without my father.” His words echo the same hurtful words Keith shouted at him, on the roof of his studio only a few short weeks ago. Keith is hit with several different feelings at once--the desperation to apologize, the urge to punch Lance in the mouth, and the groundless and crazy desire to hug him. 

“Are you fucking--?  _ Lance- _ -” Keith struggles to find the right thing to say as Lance stuffs the papers into the wallet and starts marching towards the front door. “ _ Lance _ !” 

“What?” Lance whirls around, eyebrows pinched together so hard it looks painful. “ _ What _ ? What the hell do you want?” 

Keith blinks at him, trying to catch his breath. What does he say? What does he want to say? He’s still so angry but there’s something gnawing at him, something at the pit of his stomach that’s just…

“I can’t keep apologizing to you about who I am.” He finally says. “This stupid... _ addiction _ , or whatever you want to call it, is part of me now. And it’s never going to go away.” 

“But why?” Lance asks angrily. “ _ Why _ ? 600lb people lose half their body weight, heroin addicts get clean, alcoholics stay sober, why can’t you  _ just-- _ ?” He makes a frustrated noise, shaking his head. “It’s because you don’t  _ care _ ! You don't care enough about  _ anything _ to try.” It suddenly sounds like this isn’t really about Keith anymore, but Keith still feels the words tearing into his skin. 

“Oh yeah?” Keith asks, voice cracking slightly. “I don’t care? I watched my dad die for  _ two whole years _ , Lance!” The last thing he wanted to do was throw a pity party for himself, but his heart feels like it’s shriveling up and it’s unnatural and painful and it  _ reminds _ him of-- “My dad was always the energetic one! The  _ fun _ one! He woke up at 5AM and ran every morning and he told jokes that made whole rooms of people laugh and he  _ traveled the world _ and learned so much about everything, and then it  _ all disappeared!” _ Keith can hear the ringing in his ears at the end of his sentence, indicating how loud he’s yelling. He takes a breath and lowers his voice slightly. “I watched the life drain out of him  _ every goddamn _ day. I watched his personality die. Everything about him that made him  _ something _ just withered away. Until he was nothing. He was just nothing--not an  _ alive _ person, not a  _ dead  _ person, just absolutely  _ nothing _ .” Keith’s hands are shaking and he tries to clench them into fists; tries to calm himself down. “So excuse the  _ fuck _ out of me,  _ Lance _ , if I’m afraid of that happening to me, too.” 

Lance’s face is still scrunched into a frown, but it looks significantly softer. His eyebrows twitch slightly, like he’s trying to make sure he still looks mad. His eyes still bore into Keith’s looking almost prismatic with the array of emotions in them. 

But then after a moment, his face dissolves, and he lets out a defeated sigh. His eyes downcast. The rigidness in his posture loosens. He reaches his hands up to his face and scrubs at it, looking torn. “I...don’t know why I keep  _ doing _ this.” He says quietly into his hands. He lets them fall and his face looks worn down. “I’m…” He trails off. Keith’s heart rate is reeling and he’s still trying to catch his breath. Because he’s never said any of that out loud. To  _ anyone _ . Not even Shiro. And now that he has given all he has to give, he just hopes Lance will try to meet him halfway. Because despite all of the shit that happens between them, Keith is invested in this search now. And maybe he’s trying to desperately solve Lance’s problem because it distracts him from his own lack of a father, but either way, he unfortunately gives a shit. 

“I...know you’re not a bad person.” Lance finally says, still not looking at Keith. “You just...I mean,  _ he _ just spent so many years...practically my whole  _ life _ neglecting me for things that were more exciting.” Lance runs a hand through his hair. “And being a world famous celebrity didn’t help. Who knows what he was always off doing, joining gangs of  _ car thieves _ and whatnot. But there was never any time for me. Because I couldn’t...fill that void for him, I guess. I just wasn’t enough. And now  _ you’re _ here and I’m just...you remind me of him, sometimes.” Lance finally looks up at Keith. “So I kind of unload twenty-three years of repressed rage on you, and that’s...not very cool of me.” 

Keith doesn’t know how to reply, so he doesn’t say a word. 

“But you’re situation is different.” Lance says. “It’s...you don’t go looking for dangerous shit to do because you feel like you’re life isn’t enough for you.” 

Keith shakes his head. 

“So you’re just...scared?” 

Hearing it said back to him stings just as much as it makes sense. “Terrified.” He mumbles. And it’s surprisingly easy to admit, for reasons he can’t explain. 

Lance looks at him for a while without saying anything. Then he nods slightly, and steps forward, wrapping Keith into a hug. 

Keith freezes from head to toe. It’s like his body switches to panic mode, because he is having trouble computing the fact that TV and talk show personality  _ Lance Martinez _ , with the corny opening lines and the phony, artificial smiles is actually fucking  _ holding _ him right now. 

Lance says, “Me too.” It’s so quiet that Keith thinks he imagined it. 

And as someone that Keith has found so incredibly fake for so long; with the airbrushed skin and the flashy makeup and the Gucci suits--Keith is slightly horrified to find that Lance feels incredibly  _ real _ underneath his fingertips. 

The cotton of his hoodie feels real. 

The warmth of his hand on Keith’s back feels real. 

And the light heartbeat Keith can feel against his own chest, between layers and layers of fabric, is incredibly real. 

Such simple sensations, but they ground Keith in a satisfying way that he never even imagi---

“You are so hot, Kogane.” Lance mumbles into Keith’s shoulder. “It’s unreal.” 

Okay, moment ruined. 

“Alright, get off of me.” Keith says, rolling his eyes as he pushes Lance away. “That’s enough of that.” 

“Maybe for now, but you can’t just keep pretending you don’t want a piece of this.” Lance is smirking at him, and it’s the infuriating one again. “It must be exhausting to live a lie.” 

“Don’t have to pretend.” Keith replies, and it surprisingly sounds true. He smirks right back at Lance, who is looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Not even a little?” He teases. 

“Nope.” Keith smiles smugly, hoping the heat in his cheeks isn’t showing. “Now  _ shut up _ so we can actually get something done, for once.” He glances down at the wallet and sighs a little. “Because this may be a stretch, but I  _ think _ I know someone who can help us decipher all this shit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god keith is so into lance i cant take it, hes like "okay, blue eyes and stuff" but what hes really thinking is "NDHBEUICBNXEIECHCENOCXEUCBNEOXKNnOCXBENUCUONE" ya know?


	5. Lamborghini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith comes to terms with a bunch of feelings and Lance and Keith both realize that theyre not smart enough to do this on their own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! life has been so insane I don't even know how to explain what the fuck ive been doing. This chapter had a little less mystery and little more development for Keith--my guess is that next chapter will be more mystery/Lance focused. Of course, in true klancekorner fashion, i have made keith fall first, because i love me some pining keith. 
> 
> Keith has another episode at the beginning of this chapter, please stay away if it triggers you or makes you feel icky! 
> 
> I am aware that there are loose ends in this chapter that still need to be tied up. please have mercy on me im trying my best haha 
> 
> anyhow, im sorry this took forever. I hope you are sort of satisfied by it. i will try to be better. love you all, thanks for clicking!

Keith’s nightmare wakes him up feeling like he’s filled with concrete. He’s no stranger to sleep paralysis, but waking up with this feeling has got to be a fate worse than death. It’s the third night this week that he has had a nightmare, and it’s always the same one. Over, and over, and over again. It’s always the white hospital room. The slow beeping of a heart rate monitor. The monotone sounds of fluorescent lights, buzzing overhead and filling Keith’s chest with liquid. The air in the room is as thick as water and everything is muffled. Not real but still there, like an itch underneath his skin. Like he’s in between reality and nothingness, just floating, without anything happening. 

He glances down at the hospital bed, through the blur of the fuzzy air, and sees the outline of his father’s body, dangerously still and frail. He clenches his teeth. Unclenches them. Clenches them again. He runs his nails across the skin on his arm, desperate to feel something. Anything. He screams and screams until his voice is hoarse, trying to get his father to respond; but the sound is muffled and never ever makes it to where it needs to go. And the air is closing in on him and suddenly he’s drowning and…

And Keith wakes up feeling like he’s filled with concrete. 

After laying in sheer panic for an ungodly amount of time, he thrusts himself out of bed, blissfully able to move. Shivering fear shakes him down to his bones and the numbness threatens to spread further, like a daunting tidal wave that he needs to outrun. 

So he does. 

Slipping on his oldest, rattiest tennis shoes, Keith grabs his keys and bursts out the door. He sprints down the hallway in his oversized black t-shirt and navy boxers, not even bothering to change because this feeling needs to  _ end _ . He needs fresh air and he needs to get the fuck  _ out _ of here. He bounds out of the lobby and into the open street, starting to feel his heart rate elevate. Starting to feel human sensations little by little-- the humidity in the air collecting on the bridge of his nose, the faint tingling in his heels from running in such old shoes, the rapid thudding of his heart in his chest. 

It’s just not enough. 

He keeps running, clutching his keys so hard his in hands that he feels them cutting into his palm. He left his keychain at home. His palm craves the sharp point of the lion’s tooth. 

He runs and runs and runs but his mind is somewhere else. Foggy, absent, far away. He sees his dad in the kitchen, falling over when he tries to stand up by himself. He sees the tears in his mother’s eyes when she had to cancel two of his trips abroad. He just keeps hearing that stale, hospital heart rate monitor, beeping and beeping and  _ beeping-- _

Suddenly, a sharp pain shoots up his leg, snapping him back into the present. The pain appears so quickly that Keith loses his footing. He is flying for a brief,  _ brief _ moment before hitting the concrete,  _ hard _ , and skidding across the sidewalk. 

Pain blossoms in his shoulder. His head throbs. All of the skin down the front of his body burns. The longer he sits there, with his skin ablaze and pain throbbing in all of his joints, the more the fog clears. Keith can hear cars honking again. He can hear the people around him, gasping and asking if he is alright. He can hear the wind weaving through the buildings. The clacking of high heels on the sidewalk and the squeaky brakes on a truck nearby. 

He revels in the feeling of clarity. Of life. 

Then the feeling passes, and he’s left with the pain. 

Groaning, he starts to sit up. A couple of strangers hold hands out to help him, but he kindly waves them away. He feels ashamed of what he’s done. It’s not normal and nobody should have to deal with him when he’s like this. 

He stands up with wobbly legs and looks down at his knees, which are scraped within an inch of their life and covered in blood. He tastes blood in his mouth and wonders what he’s done to his face. It wouldn’t be his first scar from something like this. 

His palms are covered in scrapes and he feels open wounds underneath his shirt, rubbing harshly against the fabric. He sighs, rolling his shoulder. It’s tight, and the pain shoots all the way down the left side of his body when he moves it. 

“Ugh.” He says, to nobody in particular. “Not good.” He looks around, familiar with his surroundings but knowing that he is much further from home than he initially planned to be. How long was he running for? 

He takes a deep breath and turns around, starting to walk in the direction on his apartment. The pain in his leg flares as soon as he takes one step, but he shuts his eyes and pushes through it. 

After all, the pain is comforting to him. 

 

><><><><><

  
  


“Hello?” Shiro’s voice sounds warm. “It’s pretty early, are you alright?” 

Keith plays with the hem of his now-torn shirt nervously. He doesn’t even know why he called Shiro. This isn’t the first time he’s hurt himself doing something like this, but it’s  _ definitely _ the first time he’s felt so incredibly shitty about it. He doesn’t even know why. But his chest aches as he hears Shiro’s voice, as if suddenly realizing how much he misses him. 

“I...had a nightmare.” Keith says. 

“What?” There is a smile in Shiro’s voice, like he think’s Keith is messing with him. “About what?” 

“About dad.” Keith’s voice cracks slightly as he says it. 

Shiro doesn’t answer right away, and nervousness coils in Keith’s chest. “It’s not the first one I’ve had. I mean, I- I have them all the time.” He continues nervously. “It’s just that sometimes it gets...like, I don’t know. Out of hand?” 

Shiro is quiet. Keith uses a shaky hand to press a cold, wet cloth to one of his knees. He clears his throat. “H-hello?” He croaks. 

“Keith…” Shiro says softly. “I’m...how long has this been going on?” 

Keith shrugs. Then he realizes Shiro can’t see him. “I don’t know. Since he died?” 

“Keith--” 

“But I mean. I’m fine. Well, I’ve  _ been _ fine. It’s just…” _ I’m not fine anymore.  _ “I figured someone should know. You know. In case like, I do something stupid.” 

“Are you thinking about  _ hurting _ yourself?” Shiro asks, sounding panicked.

Keith stares down at his scraped knees, guilt twisting in his gut. “Not...particularly. Sometimes I just feel a little restless.” He’s not even sure how to answer that question. Shiro may have always been around when Keith did stupid shit like this, but he never knew about Keith’s nightmares. He may have assumed it was just Keith acting out because of anger and sadness due to their loss, but Keith thinks that’s the most Shiro had ever thought about it. 

“Keith, I thought you were done with all this...dangerous craziness?” It walks the line between scolding and concern. Keith sighs, flopping onto his couch and wincing as his shoulder hits it. 

“I’m trying. I just can’t help it sometimes.” 

“Should I come down there?” 

_ God, yes. Please.  _ “No, it’s fine.” Keith says defeatedly. 

“Look, Keith, maybe you should consider talking to someone about this.” 

Keith hesitates, picking at the loose skin around his nails. “It’s not...I’m not, like…” He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

“It’s been years, Keith.” Shiro says softly. “And trust me, I know how painful it is. I think about it all the time. But, you know the last thing dad would’ve ever wanted was for you to  _ hurt _ yourself.” 

Keith hums, sinking lower into the couch. 

“I really think calling mom will help you, Keith.” Shiro suggests. “I know you miss her. It’s making you feel worse.” 

Keith sighs with his entire body. “I’m having a bad day, Shiro. Can we talk about this some other time?” 

“I’m coming down there.” 

“You...really don’t have to.” Keith tries, but it definitely isn’t convincing. 

“Keith.” 

Keith takes a shaky breath. “I honestly...don’t really know if anything will help me.” He picks at the cut in his hand. “It seems impossible.” 

“Well, have you tried anything?” 

Keith doesn’t answer. 

“Exactly.” Shiro says. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

 

><><><><

 

Keith stands in the shower for longer than usual, letting the hot water wash the dirt out of the scrapes and cuts across his body. It stings with regret. His chest feels hollow in a way that it hasn’t in a while, like he’s suddenly aware of what he’s doing to himself. He’s always been known to chase danger, but Shiro has a point-- Keith’s dad would never have wanted this pain for him. 

Keith scrubs at his skin, using double the amount of soap that he normally does. It smells tangy and fresh, and he likes how it makes him feel awake. He makes sure that all of his wounds are clean before shakily stepping out of the shower, sharp pain still tugging in his leg and shoulder.

The pain reminds him of when he was in ninth grade, and his dad encouraged him to join the soccer team. Keith really didn’t want to-- he was an introvert who absolutely  _ hated _ team sports, but his dad wouldn’t take no for an answer. During the first big match, Keith fell and hurt his leg. He was so embarrassed, frustrated with the pain, and the fact that he didn’t even want to  _ be there  _ in the first place. When he got home, he got into a huge argument with his father. It wasn’t their only fight, but it was one Keith remembers so vividly, even to this day. 

Keith had yelled,  _ “Stop forcing me to do things! I hate it, alright? Just leave me alone!”  _

His father had replied,  _ “Don’t you  _ want _ to do things? That is what life it about!”  _ He was angry, but spoke with a gentle voice.  _ “Isn’t doing  _ something _ better than doing nothing at all?” _

At the time, Keith would’ve  _ much _ rather been doing nothing at all. Now...he can’t even stomach the thought.

Keith rubs at his wet hair with his towel, tousling it into place, and saunters into his living room. He winces a little with each step. Clearly, he overexerted himself and pulled something. Or maybe there’s some kind of stress fracture from falling wrong. He works to relax his muscles as he slips on a pair of clean boxers. His skin burns as they slide over his knees, but he breathes a sigh of relief when he finally makes his way over to his couch and flops down onto it. 

Looks like the gym is out of the question for a couple of weeks. Keith would be pretty bummed about it, if there wasn't anything else to look forward to. But he’s actually really excited to see Shiro again tonight, and it leaves his chest feeling a little more settled than it was when he woke up. 

He lazily grabs for the remote and turns on his tv, flipping through the channels. Absentmindedly, he starts thinking about why his TV is even so big. Does he ever even watch TV? Why did he buy such a big TV? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that he should probably get a job soon. He’s definitely not low on funds right now-- he has a lot saved up from his past deliveries. But he can see his rent starting to become a problem in about four months. Maybe he should consider downsizing. 

His hazy thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a loud laugh, a little tinny but oddly familiar. Keith blinks a couple of times and readjusts his focus on his TV screen, where Lance Martinez is staring back at him. 

Well...not him. But, you know. The camera. 

How did Keith end up on this channel? He sighs, lifting his remote to change it. Lance may not be a total monster like Keith initially thought, but there’s still no way Keith is watching this god-awful excuse for a show. 

His hand remains still around the remote. He still hasn’t changed it. 

Lance is grinning broadly at the man sitting in the chair across from him, who Keith only vaguely recognizes from some sitcom on ABC. “So, Daniel, what would you say your  _ craziest _ encounter with a fan would be?” Lance asks it in a typical talk-show fashion, everything that Keith hated about him suddenly rising to the surface. Having been on the show, Keith now knows how it feels to be Daniel. But Daniel is handling it a whole lot better, honestly. 

“Oh man, Lance, I gotta tell ya. I went to a convention not too long ago and there was this group of girls who literally  _ each _ got my face  _ tattooed _ on their backs!” He laughs loudly, Lance mocks surprise. “I mean, how insane is that?” 

“On their backs?” Lance asks, sounding way too flabbergasted for it to be genuine. 

“Yes! Literally each one of them. The same exact tattoo!” 

“That’s dedication!” 

Daniel Whoever-The-Fuck laughs loudly, clapping his hand together. Keith rolls his eyes at the spectacle. “That tattoo artist must have been so sick of my face by the end of it all.” 

“Nonsense.” Lance replies with a smile that Keith will never admit is handsome. “You have a devastatingly sexy face.”

The crowd whoops and whistles and Keith feels himself scowling. 

Daniel totally doesn’t have a sexy face. Lance is obviously lying. He lies all the time.  _ He’s fake, remember? That’s why you don’t like him! _

But Daniel Whoever-The-Fuck looks at him with a small hint of blush in his cheeks and the softest little smile that makes Keith scowl even further. “You really want to be flirting with me on live television?” He asks jokingly. Lance chuckles. 

“What can I say? I can’t help myself. Look at you!” The crowd goes wild, and Daniel laughs again, and Lance’s teeth look really white and Keith shuts the TV off because it’s just too early for this shit.

He trudges back into his room. Maybe after such a horrible night, he can actually get some decent sleep. 

Lance seems busy today, anyway. 

 

><><><><><

 

Keith wakes up, completely disoriented, when he hears a loud, sharp knocking on his door. He jumps, vision swimming with sleepiness as he glances around, trying to register what is happening. Another loud knock. He jerks slightly again, climbing out of bed and hissing unexpectedly as his leg touches the floor. Dammit, he forgot about that. 

The knocking continues and Keith groans as he limps over to his front door. “Alright, alright.” He mutters grumpily, scrubbing at his tired eyes. Without even looking, he yanks open the door. In a split second, there is someone pushing past him and into his apartment. 

  
“Jesus, took you long enough!” Says an annoying voice that Keith registers as Lance’s. “I’m not undercover today, that could’ve been really ba…” Lance trails off into silence. Keith turns towards him and realizes that it’s because Lance is  _ staring _ , confusion twisting his face into a frown. “Holy...shit. What the hell did you  _ do _ ?” He says, glancing at Keith’s knees, and stomach, and face, and...well, basically everything, because Keith realizes that he’s still in just his boxers and didn’t even have half a mind to put a tshirt on. He never even really got a good look at what he did to his face, so he’s not too sure what Lance is looking at right now, but it can’t be pretty. 

Keith sighs, wrapping his arms over some of the scrapes on his stomach. “Rough morning.” He says simply. 

“ _ Rough morning?”   _ Lance exclaims. “No, no, no. A rough morning is spilling coffee on your favorite t-shirt. Or getting stuck in traffic, o-or missing a call from your boss!” He’s moving closer to Keith as he speaks. “A rough morning is  _ not _ tearing half of your skin off!” 

“Would you stop being so dramatic?” Keith says defensively. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

“Well I sure hope not, because it looks  _ horrible _ !” Lance is scowling. “Do I even want to know what happened?” 

“No.” 

He is close to Keith now. A little too close for Keith’s comfort, but Lance seems virtually unaffected by it. “Your face…” Lance says, and it sounds disappointed. “Your pretty skin…” 

Keith flinches away slightly when he sees Lance’s hand raising to his cheek. “Don’t touch me.” 

Lance drops his hand, looking at Keith with sad eyes. “I was wrong...wear and tear doesn’t look good on you.” 

“Well, it’s gonna have to.” 

“Keith--”

“Why are you here? Don’t you have things to do?” Keith snaps. He immediately feels a little guilty, but doesn’t try to take it back. “You never come here during the day. And without a disguise, no less.”

“I had a break.” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wanted to run something by you. Or, warn you about something, more like. Didn’t have time to change. But, clearly, you’re dealing with something.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, trying to cover up how self conscious he suddenly feels. “Just...let me put a shirt on, alright?” He mumbles, shaking his head and walking into his room. He digs out the largest, fluffiest black hoodie he can find and buries himself in it. Lance’s reaction wasn’t doing any favors for his mood, and he feels even more ashamed because of it. What does this even look like to someone who has never experienced it? As he is walking out of his room, he catches a glimpse of his face in his bedroom mirror. A purple and blue bruise paints the top of his cheekbone, and underneath the bruise is a mess of scrapes that extend all the way down to his chin. It’s only on the right cheek, but it’s not very good. Not very good at all. He sighs, trying to collect himself before finally stepping out of his room. When he sees Lance again, he buries his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, concealing as much of himself as possible. 

“Okay.” He says. “What do you want?” 

Lance is already sitting on the couch, making himself at home. There is something comforting about the way Lance seamlessly fits into his space, like he can make any place work for him. Keith wonders how he does it. 

“Just wanted to warn you that people have caught wind of our budding romance.” Lance says, sounding bored as he picks at his nails.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Our what.” 

“Our secret relationship. Our romantic nights out on the town. Our forbidden love. You name it, they’ve thought of it.” 

“What?” Keith frowns. “Wh--But how? We literally only speak to each other after midnight!” He feels himself blushing and kind of hates himself for it. “We barely ever go anywhere public!” 

Lance smirks at him. “You have yet to deny our romance, Kogane.” He says, sounding amused. Keith rolls his eyes, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. 

“There isn’t even a romance to try and  _ deny _ .” Keith bites back, scowling. Lance shrugs casually, still smirking.

“Apparently some fan, or cameraman or something got a photo of us in the car together, driving to Hayden’s place.” He says. “And now everyone is talking about how I’m in a secret romance with ‘the guy from that one video’ and we fell in love on my show.” Lance flutters his eyelashes at Keith, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I think it’s kind of romantic, don’t you?” 

Keith rolls his eyes dramatically, walking over to the couch and flopping onto it. “Great.” He mutters sarcastically. “Fucking great. Just one fucking picture and I’m on the news again.” 

Lance hums. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with me. Honestly, it was bound to happen at some point. You know...occupational hazard.”

Keith sighs. “Yeah. It’s just...people just got over the whole video thing. And then my whole freak out on your show thing. And now this?” He groans. Lance laughs, and it sounds light. Honest. 

“You don’t like being in the spotlight, I take it?” 

Keith shakes his head, eyes still trained on the blank TV screen in front of them. “Living in LA is already too much for me. Being part of the drama? That’s like….way too much. Especially if it means I’m dating  _ you _ .” 

Another small laugh. “Well then you should probably stop doing stupid shit that people pay attention to.”

“I’m really not that exciting. I don’t get it.” 

Lance snorts. “You? Not exciting?” 

“I’m  _ really _ not.” 

Lance hums thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s what you gotta do to go off the grid. Ready for this?”

Keith gives him an uninterested look. Lance continues. 

“You have to change your name, get a haircut, become a...hmm, an accountant! And eat stale, white toast for breakfast. Wear blue jeans and tube socks. Remove your gang tattoos. And for god sakes, fill in your eyebrow.” Keith can hear the smile in Lance’s voice. “Oh! I got it. You should totally go by Brad. Like, ‘Oh hey, that’s just my accountant, Brad. Yeah, he’s basically dead to the world. His life is meaningless.’ See? It works!” 

Keith feels the laugh bubbling out of him before he can stop it, rusty and rough from lack of use. But it’s out there, and he feels it shaking his entire chest. He looks at Lance, feeling like the grin on his own face is so foreign there’s no way it looks normal. Lance is grinning back. 

“You mean I don’t look like a ‘Brad’ right now?” Keith asks innocently, stifling his laughter. Lance gapes at him. 

“Was that a joke?” He asks incredulously. “Did you just make a  _ joke _ ?” 

Keith chuckles. “Shut up.” 

“Oh my god, that was an insane experience for me.” 

“Shut  _ up _ .” 

“I feel like this is a parallel universe.” 

Keith rubs his eyes, willing himself to stop grinning. “You suck.” 

“But in all honesty, can I just ask? How did you even  _ get _ that scar?” 

Keith furrows his brow, suddenly aware again of what his face actually looks like right now. “Which...one?” He asks hesitantly. Lance reaches forward, a little carefully, and pokes Keith’s eyebrow. 

“The really hot one.” He says. Keith sighs tiredly. 

“It’s really not important.” 

“Can I guess?” 

Keith eyes him wearily. “I mean...sure.” 

“Knife fight. Ninja star. Badass car crash. Cliff jumping! Oh, it  _ has _ to involve a cliff. Please tell me it involves a cliff.” Lance’s eyes are shining and Keith is a little taken aback. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Lance just...goofing around like this before. He’s only ever been ice cold, or falling apart. Never just...normal. Or funny. 

Not that Keith thinks he’s funny. 

“It wasn’t a cliff.” He says unhelpfully. Lance’s face falls. 

“Dammit. Well then tell me, what was it?” 

Keith reaches a hand up to his eyebrow and feels the small patch of missing hair. “It was like...I was really young.”

“Okay?” 

“So it’s not like...exciting.” 

Lance just blinks at him, waiting for him to continue, Keith looks down at his scraped-up hands. “I was trying to cook dinner for my family by myself. I really wanted it to be a surprise. My dad was coming home from like….I don’t know. It might’ve been Kenya? Or, no...Germany?” Keith shakes his head. “I don’t remember, but he had been gone for a really long time and he was coming home so I wanted to surprise everyone with dinner.” 

“This has taken a very adorable turn.” Lance says, smirking. Keith ignores him. 

“I was nine years old. I wanted to make chicken noodle soup--”

“Ambitious.” 

“--And while I was cutting the carrots my older brother came in and freaked out. He tried to take the knife from me and we were like...tugging it back and forth. I was so upset, because I really wanted to do it on my own...anyway, I ended up yanking too hard. And then this happened.” 

Keith feels sheepish as Lance blinks at him, processing. A smile slowly curls onto Lance’s lips, but they twitch slightly, like he’s trying to fight it off.

“Oh my god.” He says. Then, again, “Oh my  _ god _ .” He chuckles. “You are teddy bear. You are a fluffy, cuddly  _ teddy bear _ trapped in the body of a seasoned criminal.” 

Keith scowls. “No.” 

“ _ Yes _ .” 

“I don’t see it.” 

“Well  _ I _ do.” Lance says smugly. “And now I’ll never unsee it.” 

Shaking his head, Keith opts to change the subject entirely; Because he’s never truly seen himself as a seasoned criminal, but at the same time, he’s never really been a teddy bear either. So he’s not sure how to even defend himself. “Speaking of seasoned criminals,” He says, sitting up slightly, “I was going to wait until tonight to bring this up but you’re here now, so. I’m not very good at this...solving puzzles stuff. But, I have an old friend...who may be able to help us figure out all this Hayden shit.”

Lance snorts. “You have a  _ friend _ ?” 

Keith grits his teeth together. “Yes.” He snaps defensively. Then he hesitates. “Well...I mean I used to. Haven’t talked to her in...like five years.” 

“Wonderful.” 

“She’s like,  _ extremely _ smart though.” It’s been years since Keith has even thought about Pidge. He’s not even sure what part of the world she lives in. But she was one of his only friends in High School--and she was always destined for better things than him. Keith thinks that’s one of the reasons they lost touch. He just couldn’t get past how mediocre she made him feel about himself. It wasn’t even her fault. It was just...how intelligent she was without even trying. 

Pidge was younger than all of their classmates, having skipped a couple of grades because she was just  _ that _ advanced. She got along well with Keith because they both had the same dry humor. Pidge always laughed at Keith’s sarcasm. She laughed even when he wasn’t trying to be funny. It made him feel comfortable. He wonders if Pidge’s humor has changed over the years. He wonders how much more mature she is now. She’s gotta be at least twenty years old. It’s a scary thought, and the guilt starts picking away at Keith’s stomach as he recalls the last time she tried to get in touch with him. 

It was a month after his father had died. He wanted to cut ties with everybody who knew him.

He doesn’t even know if she’ll talk to him anymore, especially not after how he completely shut her out for years and years. But he’s solving a missing-person mystery right now and it’s the most difficult thing in the world for him to figure out. And honestly? This was the kind of stuff Pidge solved over tacos during game night. 

Lance’s voice interrupts his nostalgic moment. “Hello? Earth to Keith?” 

“What?” 

“I  _ said _ , is she on Facebook?” 

Keith blinks at his computer, which is sitting shut on his coffee table. “Uh...oh, right. She should be?” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “You’re hopeless.” He grumbles, reaching forward and opening the laptop. He places it on his lap. “When is the last time you even opened Facebook?” 

Keith swallows. “After that video went viral. I logged in...once. Then logged out again.” 

Lance smiles. “Jeez.” He replies, eyes slightly distracted by something on the screen. “You wouldn’t last a day in my life.”

Keith hums in agreement. A part of him really wants to ask. He wants to know what it’s like for Lance. He really wants to know how Lance manages to deal with it--how he always seems so level headed when people are constantly watching his every move. 

But he also feels like it’s none of his business. 

So he doesn’t ask. 

 

><><><><><

Lance has to leave rather quickly after they start searching for Pidge on Facebook, because he gets a very panicky message from Hunk about how his schedule is too demanding for him to be disappearing in the middle of the day. 

“How much does Hunk know about what we’re doing?” Keith asks as Lance is frantically gathering his things. Lance shrugs. 

“I usually tell him everything. He’s one of my closest friends.” He shakes his head. “Couldn’t bring myself to tell him about this. Pretty sure he thinks we’re fucking.” 

“You told me what was going on after knowing me for less than a day.” Keith argues, ignoring that last bit. Lance frowns. 

“I really didn’t think I’d ever have to see you again, so there was nothing to lose.” He starts walking towards the door. “But with Hunk? He’s one of the only close friends I’ve ever had. I have a lot to lose.” 

Keith nods. It makes sense. “He’ll probably figure out something is going on.” 

“Yeah.” Lance agrees. “But it doesn’t have to be now.” He turns towards Keith when he’s at the door. “But really... _ Do _ I wanna know what happened to you?” He asks hesitantly.

Keith shakes his head. “Probably not.” 

Lance nods. “Hm...Alright...Pick you up from Empire tonight?” 

Keith nods again. Lance sends a tiny smile, and then he’s gone, door shutting behind him. 

Keith takes a moment to collect himself before pulling his computer back onto his lap. He ignores the 698 notifications that are probably ignorant comments on his video and instead searches Pidge’s name. Her profile is the first one that comes up. 

Keith stares at the small default image, frowning slightly. It’s definitely Pidge. The girl in the image still has pale skin and huge, round glasses. She’s still wearing green (her favorite color, if Keith remembers correctly) and her shoulders are still dotted with freckles. But her hair, which used to grow past her shoulders, is chopped short. She looks slightly taller. The baby fat from her face has completely melted away, leaving the facial structure of someone who looks like Pidge, but sort of doesn’t. Keith clicks on the profile and starts going through her photos, feeling creepy but not enough to stop. It looks like she lives in Phoenix, Arizona now. Keith wonders how long she’s lived there. According to her profile, she is a nuclear physicist at a huge research facility there. Figures that Pidge would have a job at 20 that most people don’t get until they’re 50. Keith feels a small balloon of pride in his chest and it doesn’t even make any sense. He didn’t raise her. He didn’t teach her everything she knows. She did it all herself. But she still liked him enough to be friends with him. And that...feels like something to be proud of. 

Pidge only really caught the beginning of Keith’s descent into madness. She knew parts of it--the sick father, the numb feeling, the sprinting-outside-in-12-degree-weather. She was never much of a comforting soul, but she was always concerned. And Keith never really gave her anything to work with. God, he must’ve been shitty to deal with, even in High School. 

Keith holds his breath, finger hovering over the ‘message’ button. Does he really want to open this wound up again? Re-open conversation with someone who knew his father when he was alive? Does he want those kinds of reminders back in his life again? 

He clicks.

And stares. 

She can help. She can help Lance. And she can….she can help Keith, too. Keith looks at the scrapes on his hands. Maybe having a friend around  _ would _ help. 

His heart hammers as he types out his message. 

 

**Keith Kogane**

 

_ Hi pidge. _

 

Hm. Not really the picture of eloquence. He probably could've tried a little harder. But he was nervous, alright?

Keith looks at his computer screen for a long time. It feels like hours go by, as he just waits for something to happen. He taps nervously with his fingers and his leg bounces, jittery and anxious. 

Then, his computer makes a small dinging noise. In the message box, it says,  _ Pidge is typing… _

Keith blinks. 

 

**Pidge Holt**

 

_ It took you five whole years to come up with that?  _

 

Keith smiles, feeling a relieved chuckle tumble out from his chest. God, he can almost hear her saying it. 

Maybe she hasn’t changed as much as he thought she did. 

Maybe things aren’t really as bad as he always thinks they are. 

 

><><><><><

 

He spends the rest of the day messaging back and forth with Pidge. He encourages her to talk about herself and tries his absolute hardest to avoid talking about himself until necessary. He learns a lot about her-- a lot more than he was bargaining for. She talks about how college was a lot harder than she thought it would be, and also a lot lonelier too. Her closest relationships were with her professors, and a couple in particular really made in impact on her. She talks about how she dated a boy for about two months and then realized she didn’t care about him half as much as she cared about her studies, so she laid off of relationships for a while after that and just focused on learning as much as possible. 

She talks about her job, and how she works with people who are supposed to be the smartest in the nation but they’re actually all really average. She sounds like she’s already over it, which honestly doesn’t suprise Keith at all. 

By the time it is midnight, Keith feels a little closer to filling in the gaps. It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his chest without even knowing it was there in the first place. He never realized how much he missed her. Or how much he missed just having someone to talk to. A friend. Someone who knows him. 

Or rather, knew him. 

Because when Pidge says she has to go to bed, Keith realizes he hasn’t told her one thing about himself. 

 

**Pidge Holt**

 

_ It was really nice to hear from you again...can we talk later this week?  _

 

_ Or was this just a one time thing? _

 

Keith feels guilt itching away in the back of his throat. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Of course we’ll talk _

 

Doesn’t seem like enough. 

 

_ Definitely not a one time thing. _

 

><><><><><><

 

Lance is late. 

Lane is always a little late. He’s got a really hectic life after all. But tonight Lance is exceptionally late. Like, more than an hour. And Keith is getting too sleepy to keep waiting around. 

Shiro had texted Keith earlier in the night and said work ran late, but he’ll be there early in the morning. Keith was bummed, but also a little relieved, because he hadn’t thought through the possibility of Lance showing up at his apartment while Shiro was there. And that would’ve been...hard to explain. 

Keith does the sensible thing, as someone who strictly cares about Lance’s whereabouts for business purposes, and checks his instagram. The most recent picture is of Lance, posing with that Daniel Whoever-The-Fuck guy who was on his show. It’s a selfie, and Lance is looking away from the camera, and instead turned towards Daniel, planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. Daniel grins broadly into the camera. 

Keith wrinkles his nose, feeling disgusted. And something else that he can’t recognize. But it sits really heavy in his stomach.  

The caption reads;  _ “Did you have the pleasure of checking out this masterpiece of a man on my show? If not, you totally should! How could you say no to this handsome face? Link in bio →”  _

Keith wonders if Lance is actually attracted to Daniel. Maybe Lance just pretends to be attracted to everyone on his show. Maybe Lance just pretends to be attracted to Keith. 

Deep down, Keith always knew Lance was exaggerating when he did the whole “flirting” thing. But for some reason, the thought leaves him very disgruntled. So he forces himself to get the fuck off of his phone before any of this actually starts making sense. 

As soon as he tosses his phone across the couch, it vibrates with a text. He groans to himself, leaning over painfully and picking it back up. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Sorry gorgeous, paparazzi are right outside my apartment building and probably aren’t moving any time soon. Don’t feel like dealing with them _

 

Keith frowns. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Oh, that sucks  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Trying to keep this whole ‘romance’ thing under wraps as much as i can  _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Really? Why?  _

 

Keith blinks at the text. Did he really just ask that? 

 

_ Isn’t it like...a booster for ur reputation  _

 

He quickly adds it, feeling himself flush. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ My reputation is that im a lady killer and the biggest player alive. All of that would be destroyed if i was in a relationship with you, dummy  _

 

Keith snorts. Figures. His phone vibrates again. 

 

_ Wanna video chat?  _

 

He stares at the message, having a hard time understanding. He flushes even further and he doesn’t know why. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Is that really necessary  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ I mean, we wanted to make a list tonight, right? Of what everyone in the wallet had in common. We can still do that  _

 

Why does video chatting sound more intimate than just sitting with each other? Keith wills himself to get it together. What the hell has gotten into him? 

 

**Keith**

 

_ I mean, i guess _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Also id never miss out on a chance to see your pretty face ;)  _

 

Keith rolls his eyes, mind flashing back to the image of Lance with Daniel. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Whatever. we can do skype. My username is k_kogane _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Soooo original _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Fuck off _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Talk to u in a bit, sunshine _

 

Keith huffs at the nickname, standing up and walking to his room. He flops onto his bed and pulls out his laptop. When he opens Skype, he turns on his webcam and sees a very unflattering version of his face staring back at him. 

Oh god, that’s not good lighting. How long has his hair been sticking up like that? 

Feeling a little frantic, he shuffles off of his bed and looks at himself in the mirror, trying to smooth down his hair. It’s just that Lance always looks so put together. And Keith doesn’t care about his appearance, necessarily. The giant mess of scratches on his face is evidence in itself. He just….

Whatever. 

He flops back down on his bed, feeling defeated. There is no way his hair is going to look normal today. He took a nap on it while it was wet. Not his best decision. The scrapes on his face still look pretty angry. He tries not to look at them on his screen. 

The Skype ringtone sounds and Keith sees Lance’s small icon pop up. It’s a really nice photo of him. Clearly professionally taken. He obviously has makeup on. But it still looks super…

_ Whatever _ . 

Keith answers the call, laying on his stomach and resting his chin in his hand. Lance is looking down at his phone when he appears, like he doesn’t know he’s being watched. He looks like he’s in his pajamas--just a loose fitting white t-shirt that makes his skin look even more golden-brown than usual. His hair is mussed up, even more so than Keith’s, and it’s in that rare, fluffy state that Keith never really sees; free from hair gel and combing. 

He looks up at Keith and smiles broadly, white teeth and dimples on full display. It’s not the same smile he uses on his show. It’s genuine. It’s boyish. A little innocent. 

“Hey, Kogane.” He says. “Sorry, didn’t realize you answered. That was  _ fast _ . Getting impatient?” He raises a snarky eyebrow. Keith sighs. 

“No.” 

“Alright then.” Lance runs a hand through his hair. It flops back into place. “Man, you’re still gorgeous in low resolution.” 

“Lance.” Keith says, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “We’ve got stuff to do.” 

“Right, right.” Lance replies with a small smile. “You’re right.” 

“Do you have the wallet with you?” Keith jumps right into it. 

“Wow, no small talk? No ‘hey, how was your day?’ or ‘hey, you look tired, wanna take a break before we talk about your missing father’?” 

Keith sighs, long and tired, through his nose. “I don’t do small talk.” 

“Well,  _ just _ because you’re asking, my day was  _ exhausting _ .” Lance says exaggeratingly. “My trainer killed me this morning. Also, my makeup artist, Allura, was out on some other out-of-town job, and the entire studio was in chaos! Like, I can do my own makeup, people! Just not as good as her. But still. Jeez.” 

“Fascinating.” Keith deadpans. 

“And then after filming I had an event on the other side of LA. Another movie premier, can you believe it? So many movies come out these days. It’s ridiculous.”

Every time Keith has a conversation with Lance, this boy talks more and more. It’s like opening floodgates little by little with every interaction. Is this what Lance is really like behind those emotionless eyes that Keith once hated so much? Is he really just a chatterbox, full of energy and covered in adorable freckles? 

_ Not _ adorable. The freckles are  _ not adorable. _

It really does make him wonder how long it’s been since Lance just had a conversation. A real one. With a...friend. 

Lance is  _ still talking. _ “Hunk and I went out for ice cream, thank god, although it’s technically against my diet. I got the cookie dough, totally the best. If you don’t like cookie dough ice cream, you’re lying to yourself. Daniel said it was--” 

“Daniel?” Keith feels himself tune back into the conversation. He tries to keep the frown off of his face. “The guy on your show?” 

Lance’s face does a couple unreadable things before it settles into a smug smile. “You watched my show this morning?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“I didn’t.” 

Lance raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. 

“Fine, I did. But it was a complete accident.” 

“You are  _ ridiculous _ .” Lance says,holding back a laugh. “Ridiculous teddy bear.” 

“You seemed really into that guy.” Keith says, without meaning to. He convinces himself that he’s just keeping up the conversation. 

“Who, Daniel?” Lance asks, looking surprised. “I mean, he was pretty attractive.” 

“But like…” Keith grabs for words. “You seemed like,  _ really _ into him.”

Lance chuckles. “Sounds like you’re jealous.” 

“I’m  _ not _ . Just--how can you be so into someone you barely know?” 

Lance grins. “Acting.” He says, biting his lip. “It’s called acting, Keith. I had to inherit  _ something _ from my father.” 

Keith frowns slightly. “I guess.”

“Anyway, clearly you weren’t wrong about the small talk thing. You truly do suck at it.” 

“I warned you.” 

“Fine,” Lance sighs, resigned. “I’ll go get the wallet.” He gets up, shaking the webcam a little, and then disappears out of frame. Keith catches a glimpse of plaid blue pajama pants. 

With Lance gone for a moment, Keith realizes that he can actually  _ hear _ the paparazzi. He can hear them shouting, and he can see subtle flashes from the window at the back of the room. Camera flashes, and god knows what else. He can hear the calmoring of what sounds like tens of people, faded but still distinct, in the background. 

Had Lance been talking so much to try and cover up the noise? 

Keith remembers the iciness of Lance’s eyes when they first met. The dead expression. The cold words. But he also remembers the flashy smile, the shimmering highlighter, the overly dramatic laugh and the corny winks. He remembers Lance’s face, smudged makeup and tired eyes under the fluorescent lights of the diner. 

He wonders how many faces Lance Martinez has. How many faces he’s had to manufacture, just to deal with the fact that he never had a life of his own; that his life was always being lived for the joy and entertainment of other people. 

A warm tickling fills Keith’s chest, abruptly and surprisingly, when he realizes that maybe the face he’s seeing right now is...actually real. Maybe this boy in blue plaid and topped with fluffy hair  _ is _ Lance Martinez, and Keith was dead wrong about him, his entire life. 

The warmth leaves him unsettled and oddly comforted, all at the same time. 

Lance returns. 

“Yeah, sorry if you can hear them.” He says, chuckling a little nervously as he adjusts his camera and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “They’re usually this loud, but it’s kind of like background music to me now.” 

Keith takes a deep breath, trying to swallow down the warmth. “It’s super annoying.” He says, lacking eloquence as usual. “How do you deal with it?” 

Lance shrugs. “It’s just part of the deal, man.” He says, voice falling a little flat. He holds up the wallet. “Okay, so, let’s get down to business.” 

Keith nods. “Right.” 

“So what do we know about all of these people?” Lance asks, starting to unfold all the papers again. “We know that at some point, they were all celebrities, or famous in some way.” 

“Most of them were singers and actors.” Keith says, taking out a notebook and starting to jot down the points. “What about the locations of their deaths?” 

Lance shakes his head. “No common themes stick out to me. A bunch of random places. I mean celebrities travel a lot, it makes sense.” 

Keith hums. “But do you think it’s safe to say that most of them died while they weren’t home?” 

Lance nods slowly, staring intently at one of the papers. “Yeah...that could’ve been his method though. I don’t know. Flying people away and then...murdering them in random locations.” 

“Let’s try not to look at this as a murder right now.” Keith says, voice surprisingly gentle. “We don’t have a full story yet.” 

Lance sighs, shaking himself out of it. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“Maybe we should take a step back.” Keith says, wheels turning. “Sendak said that one of the workers in the car theft circuit became an airline pilot. Assuming that  _ is _ Hayden, that means he was once part of the gang as well.” 

Lance nods slowly. “So?” 

“So maybe all of these celebrities also have something to do with it.” Keith speculates. “Like, maybe they all had some affiliation with that line of work.” 

Lance frowns. “That sounds doubtful.” He says. “I just feel like…” 

Keith frowns. “Yeah. Like something big is still missing.” He sighs. "I just wish there was a way for us to know who was involved in the gang when all this stuff started happening." 

A frustrated noise from Lance. "Yeah..." 

“I got into touch with my friend today. Like, the super smart one.” 

Lance perks up slightly. “Oh yeah?” 

“I think she’ll be able to help us find out more.” 

“Hopefully she isn’t imaginary.” 

“I  _ have friends _ , Lance.” Keith snaps, not fully believing it. “Anyway, the more heads we have in this, the better.” 

Lance hums in agreement. “Yeah.” He says hesitantly. “Which is why I think I have to tell Hunk, too.” He rubs his eyes, clearly getting sleepy. “I’m sure he can help. He was my dad’s biggest fan. Knew everything about him. He’s a really smart dude.” 

Static silence fills the room. They both just kind of look at each other for a moment.

Lance says, “Is everyone in my life secretly a car thief?” He sounds exhausted.

Keith laughs. He can’t help it. Lance’s face brightens a little at the reaction. “I honestly don’t know, Lance.” Keith replies. “But at least we’re asking the right questions.” 

Lance yawns dramatically, rubbing his eyes yet again. “Mmkay,” He mumbles. “Well...I guess this is goodnight, Kogane.”

Keith swallows. For some reason, these words have an effect on him. The warmth in his chest from earlier is now seeping into his cheeks. “Uh. Yeah...Goodnight.”

Lance ends the call with a tiny smile; leaving Keith alone with his stupid, disgustingly fluttering heartbeat.

 

><><><><><

 

Shiro arrives early the next morning. Keith wakes up before the sun rises, just to make sure he hears the knocking. Of course this means he only really got a couple hours of sleep, but sleeping for too long makes that gross numb feeling come back anyway. So sometimes he’s glad to be exhausted. 

Shiro’s face falls the moment he lays eyes on Keith. He drops his bags and scurries up to him, looking distraught. “Oh my  _ god _ , Keith.  _ Jesus _ , what did you do to yourself?” There is a frustration in his eyes that makes Keith’s stomach flip. “What--I thought you were  _ taking care _ of y--” 

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Keith tries, sounding defeated. “I’m...sorry.” 

Shiro runs his fingers over the scrapes. “Is it just your face?” He asks. Because he is no stranger to Keith’s injuries; which means he knows it’s never really just his face. 

Keith shakes his head. Shiro sighs. 

“What happened?” He asks, sounding equal parts gentle and disappointed. Keith flinches away slightly, feeling ashamed. It’s a relief for Shiro to be here, especially since the last time they saw each other was months ago and Shiro had marched out of the apartment, shouting and slamming the door behind him. Shiro means the world to Keith, and fighting with him over the past few months has been really hard. But in this moment, the relief and comfort that Shiro usually brings him is starting to melt away as the reality of the situation emerges. The reality that Keith is actually hurting Shiro when he hurts himself.

“I just tripped.” He says. And it’s not technically a lie. 

“Keith, I swear to god,” Shiro warns. “I didn’t come all the way down here for you to lie to my face. Tell me the truth, or I’m leaving.”

Keith swallows. “Fine. I tripped after I was...sprinting for a while.” 

Shiro glares at him. “Why were you sprinting?” 

“I was trying to shake off a bad feeling.” 

“What kind of feeling?” 

Keith groans. “Just--a bad one, okay? Made me feel...sluggish.” 

“And you’re nightmare? The one you told me about? That’s completely irrelevant all of a sudden?” 

Keith takes a few steps backwards until his ankles his the bottom of the couch. He flops down onto it, letting his entire body deflate. Shiro sighs frustratedly and follows him, sitting down on the next cushion over. Keith keeps his eyes trained on the floor. It’s been a while since he’s seriously talked about any of this at all. Yelling at Lance was the first time in what feels like forever, when he finally said any of it out loud. But it just feels absurd now, that Lance Martinez knows a small piece of Keith that Shiro doesn’t. So Keith knows he’s got to face the music. He knows he has to tell Shiro what’s been going on. 

His mouth opens before his fear can stop him. “Do you remember the week that dad died?” He asks, voice quiet. “Like, the entire week.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shiro nodding. “We were at the hospital every single day.” He says. “You missed two weeks of school.” 

Keith bundles his hands into the long sleeves of his sweater. “We ate there. And slept there. And had conversations there. And he just…” Keith can already feel the heat prickling at the corner of his eyes. “He just  _ laid _ there. He wasn’t even alive anymore. He was just  _ there _ .” 

Shiro doesn’t really respond. Keith knows there isn’t much for him to say. But now that he’s started, he doesn’t know how to stop. The pain is too persistent and there’s just too much of it, spilling over and threatening floods of words to come pouring out of his mouth. “I mean, how insane was that?” He continues. “That he could be so full of life, and experiences, and it all just stopped existing. Like...where did it all  _ go _ , Shiro?” Keith voice cracks. “Where did he go?” 

Shiro wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders, pulling him in close to his chest. Normally Keith would shrink away from a touch like that, but he leans into it today. He feels the warmth of it all the way down to his shivering bones. 

“He never stopped being our dad, Keith.” Shiro says sadly. 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” 

“He wasn’t the disease.” It sounds like he may also be trying to convince himself. “The disease was just something horrible that happened to him.” 

  
“I just don’t…” Keith shakes his head furiously. “I don’t get why that makes a difference. The outcome is the same.” 

“Is that what you’re nightmares are about?” Shiro asks hesitantly. “The hospital?” 

“Not...necessarily. It’s more like, how I felt. I guess. In the hospital.”

“Which was…?”

“I don’t know.” Keith sits up, away from Shiro, and looks down at his hands. “Nothing, really. Just like...empty.” 

Shiro is looking at him with a sympathetic look. But also a lot of confusion. “Keith...I don’t...I’m not really sure what to say.” He seems genuinely lost, which isn’t very encouraging. “I do still think you need to call mom--”

“Shiro…” 

“And I really think you should talk to someone.” His voice is firm, like he has officially decided. “I mean, look what you are doing to yourself…” 

Keith can feels the open scrapes on his knees rubbing against the inside of his sweatpants. It’s definitely uncomfortable, but it’s also a steadying sensation. It makes him feel. “I’m so afraid of losing everything. Like dad did.” Keith states, careful not to address any of Shiro’s points. “Like, I need to do this. To make sure that I’m always...present.” 

Shiro shakes his head. “No. You need to learn how to find _other_ things that make you feel…’present’.” He squeezes Keith’s shoulder. “And you can’t learn that without help, Keith. So please--” 

Like glass shattering a fragile moment, Keith’s phone lights up between them, ringtone blaring. He winces, irritated. On his screen, in big white letters, it says  **_‘The Worst Person Ever’ is calling…_ **

Shiro snorts. “Wha…? Who  _ is _ that?” 

“No one.” Keith snaps, snatching his phone away. “It’s nothing. Nobody.” 

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. “Okay, now I’m  _ really _ curious.” 

“Just someone who I used to do business with.” Keith lies. “You know. All that criminal stuff.” 

“Then why is he still calling you?” 

  
“I don’t know.” 

Shiro narrows his eyes at him. “What are you not telling me?”

“I swear, it’s nothing.” Keith attempts again. 

“Oh my god. Are you seeing someone?” 

“What? Ew. No.” Keith replies. But fuck, he is blushing all of a sudden. Why the fuck is his face hot? It’s not a lie. He’s  _ not _ seeing anyone--

“You are seeing someone.” Shiro says. “You  _ are _ .” 

Keith shakes his head so furiously it almost hurts. “No, I swear I’m not.” 

Shiro studies him for an uncomfortably long amount of time, looking skeptical. Then he sighs. “Fine.” He says. “Well, I’d say that’s enough heavy lifting for one morning.” He sends Keith a soft smile. “How about brunch somewhere?” 

Keith, oddly enough, feels relieved. Even though they didn’t really reach a conclusion, he feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest. It’s the lightest he’s felt in a while.  Although he can practically count the minutes before the numbness starts closing in again, he feels strangely at peace, if only for a moment. Because Shiro knows now, and Keith's not trying to fight it off alone anymore. 

 

><><><><><

 

Lance calls Keith four times in the next two hours. During brunch, Shiro gets more and more suspicious every time he hears the faint vibrating ringtone coming from Keith’s pocket. 

“You gonna answer that?” He asks, for the third time. Keith shakes his head. 

“I don’t know what this guy wants to talk so bad.” He says. “Must be some money thing.” 

Shiro frowns, but doesn’t push it. He talks about his life in the suburbs. He looks bored when he talks about his job; there are a group of coworkers he can’t stand who keep inviting him to things. His boss always finds stupid reasons to yell at him. There are absolutely no women in the office so he doesn’t think he’ll be meeting anyone any time soon. He sighs tiredly and fiddles with his scrambled eggs, and Keith watches, feeling mildly irritated at what he sees. 

Shiro is a hero to him. A monument of a man, and he’s slowly crumbling. And Keith hates it--but he knows that what he is doing with Lance will help Shiro. It’ll help him follow his dreams. Lance promised, after all. And Keith is tired of seeing his brother so incredibly defeated. 

It’s a look that fits on Keith, but it should never fit on Shiro. 

Speaking of Lance, Keith excuses himself from the table and runs into the bathroom to call him back. He really would try to ignore it, but Lance has called for the fifth time and Keith is practically fuming. He picks up on the first ring, nostrils flaring. 

“ _ What _ ? What the fuck do you want?” He snaps, the moment he knows Lance is listening. “Are you  _ insane _ ?” 

“Well hello to you too, gorgeous.” Lance’s voice sounds calm and smooth, as it almost always does. “What have you been so busy doing?” 

“You have been calling me non-stop for two hours!” Keith whisper-yells. “Didn’t it occur to you that maybe it wasn’t a good time?” 

  
“Couldn’t take no for an answer.” Lance supplies, as if this solves the problem. “I’m used to getting what I want, remember?”

“What  _ do _ you want?” 

A small breath, like he is preparing himself. “I talked to Hunk this morning. Told him everything.” 

Keith pauses, hand clenching the phone tighter. “Really?” 

“Yeah. And it took a while to explain everything but he says he wants in. He’s a smart guy, I really think he can help.” 

Keith nods. “Right.” He agrees. “Well, that’s awesome.” 

“Oh hey, side note; have you gotten recognized at all in public this week?” 

Keith furrows his brow. “What? No.” 

“Oh. Because the whole romance thing is starting to...you know what? Nevermind.” 

Keith’s heart rate picks up, despite his better judgement. “Wait, Lance. What?” 

“It’s nothing! Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” 

“I think some gossip blog wrote a vague post about how I’m secretly video chatting with you, and it somehow gained lots of traction. Don't know how they found out, honestly.” Lance sounds bored. “I mean, they’re still not referring to you by name, so I think we’re good. You’re still just the ‘Small Town Hero’.”

“Jesus.” 

“But people have started photoshopping what our kids would look like.” 

“Oh my god.” 

Lance chuckles, and Keith realizes, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he’s starting to like the sound of it. “Don’t worry, Kogane. I’ll try my best to make sure we don’t have kids together." A pause. "But I can’t make any promises.” 

Keith scoffs and rolls his eyes, but feels a small smile on his face. He quickly wipes it away. “Well thank god for that.”

“Mean.” Lance says teasingly. Then he continues, his voice slightly more serious. “So, if paparazzi doesn’t get in the way, let’s meet and Empire tonight. Maybe drive over to Hayden’s. I’ll bring Hunk. You bring your smart friend who is definitely not imaginary.” 

“She’s _not_.” 

“Hunk says that there may be a way for us to access some kind of...car theft database.” 

“For what?” Keith asks. “Do you really think they kept records of every single person who ever joined the circuit?” 

“Maybe.” Lance sounds lost. “And if we find out all those dead celebrities were in it, then at least we know it was an internal thing.” 

Keith sighs. “Sounds highly unlikely.” He deadpans. “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s Pidge.” 

Lance hums in agreement, even though he doesn’t even know who Pidge is. Then, the line is silent. Like a slap in the face, Keith remembers that Shiro is still at the table outside, picking away at his eggs. 

“I gotta go.” He says. “See you tonight?” 

“Yeah. Just wanted to give you a little heads up. You know. About the publicity.” Lance says, voice getting a bit more serious. “Be careful out there, gorgeous.” 

Keith catches his reflection in the mirror and is horrified to see the deep flush in his cheeks. “I--I will.” He fumbles, feeling the same warmth he felt earlier. The same warmth that tickled his chest when Lance was just a pixelated mop of fluffy hair and blue plaid pajama pants. He turns away from the mirror, feeling antsy all of a sudden. “Bye, Lance.” 

"See you on the flip side, Kogane." 

><><><><><

 

Out of curiosity, Keith decides to search the articles and posts about his supposed ‘secret romance’ with Lance. With a nervous heartbeat and sweaty palms, it draws him in. He gets lost in it, feeling terribly content with the thought that he actually...doesn’t mind it too much. 

In terms of unwanted publicity, he feels like he got pretty lucky.  


	6. Rolls Royce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pining Keith and lance opens up more and also hunk and pidge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i have no idea what im doing, also sorry this chapter took twelve eons 
> 
> <3

Keith has a dream that Lance kisses his neck. 

He really wishes there were more to the dream--some kind of hidden meaning, some kind of angst or repressed rage or even some mention of numbness or his dead father. Something that would make it more than what it was, or give him a reason for feeling so much chaos in his chest when he woke up. But it was just...what is was. It was just Lance Martinez, sitting in the barstool next to him in Empire, talking about a new concealer that Allura started using under his eyes. Just talking and talking and talking, and Keith is staring, a little out of focus; not quite there. Then, Lance just leans over, gently, and plants a soft kiss right below Keith’s ear. His lips are warm. Keith feels it all the way down to his toes. 

In a cheerful voice, Lance says, “Thanks, man.” 

Keith wakes up.

He tries to get out of bed but his knees feel wobbly. 

 

><><><><><

 

“Hold up,” Pidge says, voice comforting and familiar over the phone. “You want me to do  _ what _ ?” 

Keith rubs his eyes, staring down at the mug of black coffee in front of him. The steam hits his face in waves. He desperately wants to shake the sleep out of his bones. “Help me solve a mystery.” 

Two weeks ago, Lance and Keith had planned to meet up with Hunk and Pidge to go over what Lance calls “Mystery Deets” (Keith had rolled his eyes at that), but unfortunately Lance’s schedule absolutely blew up and he had to spend two weeks traveling to different cities for events he was “expected to be at.” Keith couldn’t deny that he was disappointed; not that Lance was  _ leaving _ , of course...that would be dumb. But just that he was pretty excited to start digging into this case with Pidge.   
The good thing about Lance’s absence is that it has given Keith more time to catch up with Pidge. They’ve been talking almost every day; and it’s random but in a really wonderful way. Keith forgot what it was like to just have light hearted conversations with someone. Not that Pidge is a very light hearted person, but she’s just enough for Keith. 

Keith still has yet to update her on...things. 

 

Those Things™ : 

 

  1. Being in a gang of car criminals 
  2. Working with a world renowned celebrity to find the most famous man on earth, presumed to be dead at the bottom of the ocean  
  3. Having an undeniably disgusting crush on said world renowned celebrity 
  4. Possibly seeking therapy for all self destructive tendencies



 

Pidge laughs. “Solving a mystery? You?” She giggles again. “What, did you lose your car keys?” 

Keith huffs a laugh. “No, it’s like, a real mystery. Like the ones you used to solve instead of listening during Biology.” 

“Those were puzzles, though.” Pidge says. “Is your mystery a puzzle?” 

“It’s a...guy,” Keith says, as if it explains everything. “Who, uh, is missing,” He adds on. 

“What?” 

“Have you heard of Anton Martinez?” 

Pidge is silent for a moment. “Isn’t he the guy in that rom-com about the fudge bakery?” 

Keith laughs. Pidge’s fleeting knowledge of pop culture would destroy her in LA. “Yeah, that’s the one.” 

“What about him?” 

“He’s...dead now.” 

Another pause. “Oh.” 

“But like, he might not be.” 

“Oh?” 

“I’ve been...it’s a long story, but I met his son under strange circumstances--”

“He has a son?” 

Keith sighs. “Yes. And he said that his dad  _ isn’t _ actually dead.” 

“And...you believe him?” 

_ No. Yes. Maybe. _ “It’s a long story,” Keith concludes defeatedly. “So? Are you at least interested?” 

“Interested?” She scoffs. “I know nothing about it.” 

Keith waits. 

“Of  _ course _ I’m interested.” 

He grins. “That’s what I thought,” he says happily. He knew Pidge wouldn’t pass up a challenge. “We should be meeting with Lance either today or tomorrow. He can fill you in on stuff.” 

“Lance? Is that the son?”

“Do you really not--?” Keith sighs, shaking his head. “Never mind. I’ll text you the details, okay?” 

“Sure thing,” Pidge says, voice picking up in the excited way it always does when presented with a task. “Oh, and Keith?” 

“Yeah?” 

He hears a small smile in her voice. “Can’t wait to see you again.” 

 

><><><><><

 

Keith is laying on his bed, about to fall asleep, when his phone vibrates loudly from somewhere next to his head. He picks it up, seeing a text from Lance. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Hey gorgeous. Damn, it’s been a minute! How are you? _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Yeah it actually has. Im ok _

 

He hesitates. 

 

_ How was traveling?  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Is this….oh my god, are you making small talk?  _

 

Keith has to fight not to smile. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ No, it’s just...talk  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Ur talking to me??? _

 

_ You are making monumental strides as a social being, Kogane _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Fuck off _

 

He absolutely did  _ not _ miss this banter. Not even a little. 

His phone starts ringing and his heart lurches slightly. Of course Lance is fucking calling him. He cringes inwardly, picking up on the first ring. 

“Hello?”

“Ah,  _ there’s _ that voice I love.” Lance says, sounding smooth and happy and so very confident. Keith is starting to think Lance has probably never had a crush on anyone, ever. “Texting you just isn’t the same.” 

“Hi, Lance,” Keith deadpans. 

“Hello there, gorgeous,” Lance replies. “And to answer your question, traveling has been pretty fun. I mean, I’ve barely slept. But that’s typical for cross-city trips. I think my favorite city was San Francisco, though. Gotta love San Fran.” 

Keith just nods slightly. “Cool.” 

“Also? Very random, but some of the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.” 

“I don’t like hot chocolate.” 

Lance gasps, horrified. “You don’t  _ what _ ?” 

“It’s too sweet.” 

“Wow. I finally get it. You hate fun, don’t you?” 

Keith sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “You are exhausting.” 

Lance chuckles. “Did you talk to your super not-imaginary friend this week?” 

“I swear to god,” Keith mutters under his breath. “Yes, I did.” 

“And?” 

“And she’s in. Seems excited.” 

Lance sighs a little, and it sounds like he’s trying to cover up how relieved he is. It doesn’t work. “Oh, cool. Good.” A pause. “Do you think we can actually do this?” 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Do what?” 

“I don’t know...Solve this. Like, the more I think about it, the more I--”

“Stop thinking about it.” Keith interrupts. “Just...wait until we get some help, okay?” 

Lance sighs. “Yeah...okay.” 

It sounds like the end of the conversation. It  _ should _ be the end of the conversation. But Keith, for some reason, continues talking. “So, should we meet at Hayden’s place? I prefer it over Empire.” He remembers his brief dream and quickly pushes it out of mind. 

“Yeah, sounds good. Maybe I’ll bring actual food this time.” 

Keith frowns a little, confused. He suddenly finds himself wondering where Lance lives. Does he live with his mother? Does he have his own house? Why live anywhere else but that beautiful, classical mansion Hayden left for him? 

There is still so much about Lance that he doesn’t know. So much about Lance’s history and his father and everything in between. And Keith wants to know all of it. His curiosity is making it painfully obvious how much he cares all of a sudden. It’s not just because he wants to solve the mystery. 

“Right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night? With Pidge and Hunk?” 

“Sure thing. Goodnight, Kogane.” 

“Yeah. Goodnight.” 

 

><><><><><

 

The next day, Keith gets recognized in public for the first time. 

“Oh my god, you’re the guy from that video!” She’s a girl who looks to be around 17, working behind the counter at the local CVS Pharmacy. Keith went in to buy toilet paper, which he is now holding an absurd amount of in his arms as this girl stares at him with wide eyes. She looks like someone just tased her. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. He wants to ask  _ Which video? _ Because as of right now there are quite a few things she could be talking about. But he’s so shocked that someone actually  _ gave enough of a shit _ to recognize him in public, that he just stands in front of her, dumbstruck. 

“I loved the way you protected that kid! I have a little brother,” She is climbing over the counter as she talks. It’s a bit dramatic when the little door separating them is literally a foot away from her, but she chooses not to use it. “I was so touched because I would give anything to have someone be protecting him like that!” 

Keith opens his mouth to speak over the mound of toilet paper currently blocking his face, but then the girl is talking again. “My friends are all obsessed with you! When we heard you were from LA we all, like, tried to look for you everywhere!” 

“Uh--” 

“And then we heard on Lance’s show that--” Her eyes go impossibly wider. “Oh my god are the rumors true? You’ve  _ got _ to tell me.” She leans in close, whisper-yelling.  _ “Are you dating Lance Martinez?”  _

Keith blinks at her, taking a step back. “I, uh--”

“Oh my god you  _ are _ !” Her voice is getting louder. “Oh my--that’s insane! This is insane!” 

“I didn’t--” 

“I have  _ got _ to tell my friends! Can I take a selfie with you?” 

Keith doesn’t have time to answer before she is crowding into his space, practically shoving a phone up his nose. He glares at the camera, irritated. The toilet paper is covering half his face anyway, but this girl snaps the picture, giggling wildy. Keith is ready for this to be over. 

“Look, it was really nice to--” 

“Tweeted it!” She interrupts. “I can’t believe  _ Lance’s boyfriend _ buys toilet paper at the CVS I work at!” 

Keith frowns. “I’m not his--” 

“Is he really as hot in real life as he is on TV?” She asks, sounding skeptical.

_ Yes _ . “We’re  _ not-- _ ” 

“Because I heard that he wears a  _ ton _ of makeup.” 

Keith can feel irritation bubbling right beneath his skin. “It’s a TV show. He  _ has _ to. Cameras.” He says firmly. It’s the first full sentence he’s gotten out during this entire conversation, and it makes him flush; wIth anger or embarrassment, he doesn't really know. Because he thought the same things about Lance a couple months ago, but it feels like ages ago. 

“So  _ cute _ ! You’re defending him!” She squeaks.

He realizes that what he said really didn’t do anything to deny the whole “Lance is my boyfriend” thing. Which is incredibly concerning. 

“I’ve gotta get going.” Keith says, before she can say anything else. God, this is only one singular “fan” and he already feels like dying. How does Lance do it? “I’ll...buy this later.” He sets the toilet paper on the floor tentatively. “Got things to do.” 

The girl is practically vibrating out of her skin. “O-okay! Well it was like,  _ super _ awesome meeting you!” 

He attempts a small smile, feeling like a fish out of water. He doesn’t know how to do any of this. “Yeah.” He mumbles. “Bye.” 

He hurries out the door with his heart racing and doesn’t stop moving until he is in his apartment with the door locked. 

The video went viral ages ago. Keith thought he had escaped the whole “getting recognized in public” threat. But with Lance in the picture now...it’s obviously different. 

Keith buries himself underneath his covers, making a silent vow to never leave the confines of this lovely, lonely apartment ever again. 

 

><><><><><

 

It’s about an hour before Pidge is supposed to arrive when Keith hears a knock on his door. He’s making tea and trying not to fall asleep on his couch when the loud sound interrupts the still, numbness of the air around him. It wakes him up more than the tea ever would. 

He opens the door, unsurprisingly seeing Lance push past him, walking into his living room. He sighs. “You’re early.” He grumbles. “Why are you here.”

Lance is undercover again, which, after Keith’s brush with a singular fan today, he totally understands. 

“Do you just have a closet filled with fake food delivery uniforms?” Keith asks, eyeing the bubbly red letters on Lance’s white tshirt;  _ Sandwich Palace Delivery.  _ “Because I’m going to be honest, they just keep getting tackier.” 

Lance takes off the red baseball cap that was covering his face and his hair flops loose, fluffy but looking slightly damp at the ends, like he just showered. He ruffles it a little with his hand and the scent wafts over to where Keith is standing. It’s not a scent that Keith can pin down. It’s like saltwater-- sweet, but with a bite. Clean. Expensive. Lance just pouts at him. 

“First of all, it’s not a  _ closet _ ,” He says defensively. “It’s a...shelf.” He chucks his hat onto the couch. “And second of all, I’m here early because apparently--” He pauses for a second and fishes his phone out of his pocket, squinting at it carefully. He then shoves the screen into Keith’s face. “ _ \--Apparently _ we are officially dating!” He sounds a little incredulous, like he can’t believe what’s happening. “Would you look at that? ‘ _ Keith Kogane _ has confirmed to be the _ boyfriend _ of TV and talk show personality  _ Lance Martinez _ !’” With each word, he shoves the phone closer to Keith’s nose. “Is there something I should know about what’s going on here, Kogane?” He is equal parts teasing and concerned. Keith falters, feeling ambushed.    
“Wha--? I didn’t  _ say _ anything!” 

“Apparently you ran into a fan? In a  _ CVS Pharmacy _ ?” And just like that, Lance’s resolve begins to crumble. Only a little. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. “While you were buying  _ toilet paper-- _ ” 

Keith is still frowning. “I swear I didn’t even get a  _ word _ in!” 

“You told her I was hot in  _ real life _ too--”

“They twisted my words!”

“That I  _ have _ to wear makeup on my show.” 

“Well, you do!” 

“And then you took a--” Lance’s face finally cracks, a delighted chuckle falling from his lips. “A  _ toilet paper selfie _ !” He doubles over, laughing so hard that his eyes crinkle up at the sides and his cheeks turn bright red. Keith just stares, partially mesmerized and partially mortified. 

“None of it is true!” He tries uselessly. But Lance is still chuckling, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. 

“You…” he starts, trailing off to giggle more. “You are the strangest person I have ever met, Kogane.” 

Keith hugs his arms around himself. “Whatever.” 

“Of course the one time you have a fan, you’re buying paper to wipe your ass with.” 

“I have more than one fan!” Keith argues, as if this makes him cooler. “She had...friends!” 

Lance busts out laughing again. Keith feels the flush all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

“Alright, Kogane. Okay.” Lance says breathlessly, falling onto the couch. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now. We’re boyfriends. We’re bumpin’ uglies. Doin’ the do. All that romantic stuff.” 

“What do you  _ mean _ ?” Keith asks, scowling through his thundering heartbeat. “Can’t we just like, un-confirm it? Say it’s wrong?” 

Lance scoffs. “Are you crazy? You met a girl for a minute and a half and they manufactured this entire story with nothing but a selfie and a tweet. You can’t ‘tell people they’re wrong’ in Hollywood.” He stretches out his long legs onto the couch and Keith definitely does not look. “If we meddle, we make it worse. End of story.” He sounds bored; like he’s teaching calculus or proper grammar. 

“Well what about your ‘player’ reputation, then?” Keith quips. Lance shrugs. 

“Who knows?” He tilts his head back onto the arm rest and throws Keith a wink. “I may just have to break your heart, gorgeous.” 

 

><><><><><

 

Keith has only ever been in two real relationships in his life--one of them was before his father’s death, and one of them was after. He is pretty certain that both of them sucked major ass, but for entirely different reasons. 

His first relationship was with a boy named Myles Richardson. They were in the same geometry class sophomore year and Keith was going through somewhat of a sexual awakening. His father hadn’t been diagnosed yet, so there wasn’t really anything...wrong with his life. Well, there were normal teenager things wrong with his life, which was a blessing he now knows he took for granted. 

Myles had curly, dark brown hair and green eyes. He laughed at Keith’s dryness and loved to cook. They bonded over isosceles triangles and supplementary angles and when they kissed, Myles tasted like cherry Jolly Ranchers. They would talk about life after high school, and how silly school dances were, and how they both hated the new history teacher. And then they would make out. A lot. 

But Myles had other friends. Myles was bright and hopeful and loved playing sports. He had plans for his future--passions and dreams and a love for life that Keith just never had. He told amazing jokes and charmed his way through classes and cut through Keith’s dullness like a ray of sunshine streaking across a dark room. Keith remembers feeling like he was the dull one. He remembers feeling like he was just a rock, heavy and lifeless and dragging Myles down. He’s not sure if he ever loved Myles, but he was certain that Myles never loved him. How could he? 

He remembers the biggest fight they had; Keith said he didn’t have any plans for after graduation, and that he didn’t like anything enough to want to make any. He said it casually, because in his head, this was something normal. But it seemed like a final straw for Myles; their stark differences finally driving a wedge between them. When they split a couple of months later, Myles had asked, ‘ _ how do you expect me to care about you when you don’t care about anything at all?’ _

He remembers talking to his dad about it. He had said,  _ ‘Dad, I don’t think I’m very easy to like.’  _ When his dad asked why, Keith just said what he felt.  _ ‘I’m too dull. Like, you know...normal. Boring.’  _

_ ‘That’s a load of crap,’  _ his dad had replied,  _ ‘You’re the one of the strangest kids I’ve ever known, Keith.’ _

_ ‘What do you even mean?’  _ Keith had asked, lost. 

_ ‘I can’t explain it...but the right person will see it. Trust me.’ _

 

><><><><><

 

Pidge arrives and Keith feels like he’s sixteen again. He opens the door and sees her tiny frame, still just as short as ever, and he can’t even help the smile that breaks across his face. 

“Keith!” She is grinning broadly as she steps into the living room. She immediately pitches forward into a hug, which High School Pidge would probably have never done; but it’s nice. Her small, crooked teeth are now perfectly straight--she must’ve finally decided on braces in college. She pushes her huge glasses up the bridge of her nose and takes a step back, studying him. 

“Jeez, at the risk of sounding incredibly cliche, when the hell did you get so freaking  _ tall _ ?” 

Keith chuckles. “I’m still pretty short. You’re just...tinier.” 

Pidge’s eyes don’t leave his face. He can tell that she is looking at the scrapes on his cheek, with some concern in her eyes. But they quickly flick back up to meet his gaze. If she wants to say something about it, she is keeping it to herself. Keith breathes a small sigh of relief. Maybe Pidge’s people skills really have gotten less...blunt over the years. 

“Damn, how the fuck are you  _ affording _ this place?” Pidge says, strolling into the room and dropping her backpack onto the floor. She looks around with a stunned expression. “I gotta say, in high school I never imagined you’d end up in LA, let alone in a loft like this.”

Keith laughs nervously. “Yeah it’s been...a crazy couple of years.” It really hasn’t. Really only the last three months have been crazy but before that? Life was disgustingly not crazy. 

“Clearly.” Pidge agrees. “What is it that you ended up doing, again?”

Keith clears his throat. “Uh--” 

The door to the bathroom where Lance had been painstakingly washing his face suddenly bursts open. Keith is grateful for the distraction. 

“Oh man, she  _ is _ real!” He says snarkily, flashing a bright, charming smile at Pidge. “You must be Podge.” 

Keith cringes a little, seeing Pidge frown out of the corner of his eye. “It’s Pidge.” She says, slightly irritated. “And you are?” 

Lance gives her a horrified look. “You don’t know who I am?” 

She scoffs. “Am I supposed to?” 

Keith sighs, rolling his eyes. “Lance, don’t be a dick.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“And Pidge, this is Lance. He’s...the son of the missing guy.” 

Pidge hums in understanding and Lance sputters, clearly upset. “The  _ son _ of the  _ missing _ guy?” He squeaks. “Are you serious?” 

“I didn’t have time to explain the whole thing.” Keith argues. 

“Do you really not know who I am?” Lance asks, incredulous. He has all of his attention trained on a very annoyed Pidge. “I’m like... _ famous _ .” 

“Fascinating.” Pidge says flatly. “Truly.” 

Keith feels himself smiling. “See? It’s just like having two of me around.” He turns his smile to Lance. “Exciting, right?” 

Lance wrinkles his nose. “Great,” he mumbles. Pidge sighs and flops down onto the couch, pulling out her laptop. 

“I’m thinking we can all go out for drinks later and catch up.” She says, actually meaning it. “But for right now, there’s apparently a mystery to solve. And I’m going to need all the dirty details.” She looks up at Lance while opening her laptop. “You ready to tell me your life story?” 

In an instant, the remaining emotions in Lance’s face disappears. He has the same dim, closed-off expression that he did when he was sitting across from Keith in the diner all those weeks ago. It happens faster than Keith can blink. Seeing it stirs something unpleasant in Keith’s stomach. An hour ago, Lance seemed completely fine. Is it really so easy for him to close himself off? 

“Maybe we should wait for Hunk to get here.” Lance says cooly. “He’s on his way.” 

Pidge raises an eyebrow, eyes trained on her laptop screen. “Hunk?” 

“Lance’s friend. And manager.” Keith clarifies, still studying Lance’s face. It stares ahead with cold indifference, blatantly avoiding Pidge. Keith frowns, but turns his attention to Pidge anyway. “I guess...I can fill you in a bit more.” He says, moving to sit next to her. “But honestly?” He glances back at Lance. “I...don’t really know much either.” It comes out like a confession and actually surprises him a little, because he really  _ doesn’t _ . Lance has yet to tell him anything substantial about Hayden, or his relationship with his father, or  _ anything _ really. “So, long story short, I stole cars for a while. Like, in a gang. That’s how I got this fancy place.”   
“Wait, come again?” Pidge interrupts. But Keith plows forward. 

“And so did Lance’s dad, apparently, at some point. Lance’s dad had a good friend, Hayden...I forget his last name. But, uh, we have reason to believe that Hayden was also involved in this gang at some point.” 

Pidge just blinks at him. 

“Recently, in Hayden’s old house, we found this wallet.” Keith feels around the couch cushion for the wallet and shoves it in Pidge’s face. “It’s filled with...kind of disturbing details about celebrities who have died. Oh, and Hayden was a pilot at one point too.”

“So...Hayden and Anton, they disappeared at the same time?” Pidge says, frowning as she reads through the papers in the wallet. 

“Yeah.” Keith says. 

“And you were a  _ car criminal?” _

“That’s another long story.” Keith breathes out, long and tired. “But, uh…” He, yet again, looks over at Lance, who is picking at his nails blankly. “Yeah, that’s all I know, in a general sense. Lance?” 

Lance looks up at him and frowns slightly. “What is it now?” He snaps. Pidge scowls at him, watching as he stands up. “I need a cigarette.” He mumbles, and then he walks out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him.

Pidge and Keith share a look. Pidge appears to be pissed. “What a diva. Jeez.” She states in typical Pidge fashion. 

“No, he’s usually not like that.” Keith defends, feeling concerned. “I’m just going to go talk to him.” 

Pidge shrugs. “Mmkay. Good luck, I guess. I’m going to start searching these dead celebrity names.” She grins. “God, I’ve missed this.”

 

><><><><><

Lance’s cigarette bathes his face in an almost non-existent orange glow as he breathes in, alighting the small embers at the tip of it. Keith tries not to get caught up in watching him, which he seems to be doing a lot of lately, and instead decides to focus on the issue at hand. He takes a few steps forward, until his shoulder is brushing against Lance’s as they stare out into the darkness. Lance flinches away slightly, but doesn’t say anything. Keith smells expensive shampoo and hates the part of him that can’t separate his stupid longing from an actual serious moment. 

“Lance…” He says cautiously. “What gives?” 

Maybe a couple of months ago he’d have to rant about why he’s upset, but at this moment in time, those two words feel like enough. 

Lance blows out a puff of white-grey smoke, eyes fluttering shut. He seems to be taking a moment to himself. His features are relaxed and his freckles stand out on his skin, dark and bold in the moonlight. “M’sorry.” He mumbles, voice quiet. “Really...I am. I just can’t tell my life story to a perfect stranger.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “You told it to me.” 

“That’s different.” Lance takes another drag, silence filling the space between them. Keith gazes back out in front of them, not really knowing how to continue. Not really letting himself understand what Lance meant by that. Finally Lance lets out a sigh. 

“When I was 13, I had a crush on this girl named Abby.” He says, in such a small voice that Keith has to strain his ears to hear it. “I did everything I could to get her to like me back, and one night we went to the park together. I don’t know. Just to talk.” He sniffs. “My dad had recently debuted in a new film and it was _ all over _ the news; but I was still young enough to think that didn’t have anything to do with me...Anyway, somehow, someone found out about my location, and we were swarmed by paparazzi. Like, fucking  _ swarmed _ , Keith. Nearly trampled.”  

Keith swallows, hand clenching the railing in front of them. 

“She was terrified. And the pictures were everywhere the next morning. It was a mess.” Lance shakes his head. “I realized there are certain parts of my life that will always be...lived for other people. But my story with my dad? With Hayden? That’s...the only thing that’s mine.” Lance’s fingers shake slightly around the cigarette and Keith wants to hold them. He curls his hand into a fist. 

“Lance…”

“It’s kind of a learned behavior, ya know? Like, not wanting to talk about anything significant.” Lance shrugs. “I almost feel like it’s...physically  _ painful _ for me. To tell people things. Because so many people want to know for the wrong reasons.” 

Lance’s hair is light and wispy tonight, sweeping across his forehead and whispering against his cheeks as the breeze shakes it.

“But we want to  _ help _ you,” Keith says.

“That doesn’t make it easier,” Lance argues. “Think about it this way…” He glances at Keith for a moment, and then back forward. “However you got those scrapes, it was because you were trying to outrun feeling some type of way, I’m guessing. My dad used to go for runs and come back hours later, sometimes with scraped knees, or elbows. Too exhausted to do anything else.”

Keith looks down at his feet, feeling self conscious. 

“It took me a while to make the connection, but I see it now.” Lance says, nodding to himself. “So just imagine  _ that _ feeling...the need to run away from something...but just not running fast enough.” He drops his cigarette onto the ground and crushes it beneath his shoe. “To me, that’s what it feels like...when people prod into my personal life.” 

Then, he straightens up slightly, turning to face Keith. Keith turns to face him too, swallowing hard. 

Lance looks at him for a moment, eyes clouded with something vague, before lifting a hand to Keith’s cheek. Long fingers brush along the scrapes beneath his cheekbone before settling on his chin. Goosebumps rise all along Keith’s arms.

“You’ve got your thing, Kogane. I’ve got mine.” He says. “Mine just...doesn’t leave bruises on my face.” He smiles lightly at Keith, who’s heart is currently crawling up his throat. “It’s a shame yours does.” 

Keith clears his throat, cheeks on fire. He lifts his hand to lightly push Lance’s away. “We aren’t special, Lance,” he says flatly. “We’re just both fucked up.”

Lance’s small smile breaks into a slightly bigger one. “Yeah.” He says. “But you’re one of the first people I’ve ever met who can actually admit it.” 

 

><><><><><

 

After Hunk arrives, Keith’s apartment becomes a whirlwind of productivity. His talk with Lance seemed to have really loosened Lance up, and Hunk being there helped a lot. Hunk was skeptical at first, looking at Keith like he’d just seen a ghost. But to be fair, last time he saw Keith, he was about to jump off the side of a skyscraper. Keith is sure that the marks on his face aren’t helping rebuild any of that trust.  

Hunk and Pidge immediately hit it off. Keith was actually surprised--when he knew Pidge, she mostly kept to herself and wasn’t very interested in meeting new people. But there are subtle changes in her character that Keith can tell she’s adopted as she grew older; one of them being a fun, unique eloquence that comes with talking about things she loves, especially with new people. 

“Oh my god--this computer is insane!” Hunk exclaims, staring wide-eyed at Pidge’s screen. “What model is this? I’ve been searching for something like it forever! It’s the only one that--”

“--Can run this software? Yeah. I know.” Pidge says smugly, grinning happily at Hunk. “I built it.” 

“You what?” Hunk scoots closer to her. “You  _ built _ it? That’s amazing. How?” 

It goes on like this for a while. Lance disappears into the kitchen to get a glass of water and Keith just watches, stunned, as a friendship literally blossoms right in front of his own two eyes. He doesn’t know Hunk well at all. He’s probably had upwards of one and a half complete conversations with him. But from what he can see, Hunk shouldn’t be a Hollywood manager. At all. Hunk has a brain almost equal to Pidge’s in complexity, apparently. Keith wonders if Lance knows that. He wonders what the story is. 

Lance re-enters the room looking much happier than he did an hour ago. “Alright team, let’s get to work.” He says, grinning. Keith forces himself to look away. 

Lance sits down in between Hunk and PIdge and gives them the specs of the situation in a bit more detail than Keith did earlier. He knows that Hunk technically already knows about it, but Pidge seems more and more fascinated with every detail that gets revealed. She takes notes furiously and Keith let’s himself zone out, having heard about Hayden and Anton’s friendship before. But afterwards, Lance continues on into territory Keith hasn’t quite discovered yet. He tunes back into the conversation.  

“Hunk grew up with me. We met in like, second grade.” Lance says, putting a hand on Hunks shoulder. “He’s wasn’t always my manager. He’s an incredible engineer and he’s great with computers. That’s technically what he studied.” Lance gives him a sheepish look. “As you guys now know, my dad lived...a bit of a crazy double life. And Hunk was the expert on all of that. I asked him for help, to keep track of things my dad did and make sure he wasn’t getting into anything horrible or blowing all of his money or anything like that. Hunk’s computer expertise were my only hope for keeping an eye on him.” 

“So Hunk was a spy?” Pidge asks, half kidding. Hunk laughs. 

“I like to think of it more as a ‘guardian angel’.” 

“Wait.” Keith says. “And now you’re his manager?” 

Hunk shrugs. “I mean, after Anton….you know.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I didn’t really have a job anymore. And I wanted to work on this really cool personal project but I also needed money. So...Lance offered me a job. Basically.”

Lance nods. “Yeah that’s pretty much how it all shook out.” He says, grinning at Hunk. 

Keith glances between the two of them. He has a million more questions, but decides against it. “Okay, cool.” He says. “So...what do we do now?” 

Pidge and Hunk both laugh, like they already have an inside joke. It’s only been an hour! Pure insanity. 

“Well, I’m basically scanning for any and all information we can find on these dead celebrities.” Pidge says. 

“And I’m searching for a possible database connected to that...gang thing.” Hunk says uncomfortably, glancing up at Keith with a little bit of distaste. Keith cringes a little. 

“Uh, yeah.” He says awkwardly. “Good call. I’m not sure you’ll find anything though. It’s like...super secretive.” 

Hunk hums, not even dignifying the response with an answer. Keith has a bad feeling that Hunk isn’t his biggest fan. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that my best friend from high school became an international criminal.” Pidge warns, pointing at Keith. “That conversation is not over.” 

“What should  _ we _ do?” Lance asks, gesturing towards Keith. “I want to help.” 

“Just keep talking.” Pidge says. “Tell us literally anything you can.” 

Lance’s brow furrows in concern. Keith looks over at him and his face is plainly saying  _ please don’t make me talk anymore. _

Keith swallows hard and catches his eye. They both look at each other for a moment. Then Keith nods, giving Lance a small, encouraging smile. 

Lance’s eyebrows raise slightly, surprised. But then he gives a small smile right back, looking grateful. 

“Okay...well, I guess I can start from...like, a while ago.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t really go to a normal school. By the time I was in third grade it was clear that the classroom environment wasn’t gonna work. Too many distractions, because none of the kids treated me like a kid, and all of the teachers passed me no matter what, because of my dad. I don’t know. Something about money. I was too young to get it. My mom…” Lance looks like he’s fighting off the urge to barf. Keith can tell he’s never really told this story to anyone, ever. “My mom really didn’t mind the idea of me not getting an education. She was convinced that the only real reason to get an education was to make money in the future. And well, we already had a lot of that, so.” He shrugs stiffly. “So Hayden heard all of this and basically came into my house one day, super pissed. Like, crazy angry that my parents didn’t mind me just staying home all the time. So he took it upon himself to start homeschooling me. And those were my first memories of him.” Lance slides into the couch a bit more, starting to loosen up a bit. “He taught me nearly everything I know. And when I was younger, my dad was still around a lot. I mean, as much as an international celebrity could be. But it was when I turned twelve...ish, that my dad started disappearing more and more. He would get into fights with my mom about it a lot. She would say that he has a death wish because he would go out and come back--” Lance’s eyes lock with Keith’s, “--really injured. And hurt. A-and none of us really knew what he was up to.” Lance looks away. “One night, I tried to ask my mom what the hell was going on, and she told me that my dad was...bored with his life, and really wanted an escape. It turned into a talk about never being allowed to do drugs, as it always does with parents. But I figured there was more to the story.” 

“Where does Hayden fit into all of this craziness?” Pidge asks, voice surprisingly gentle. “I mean, with your dad doing all of this stuff, what was his opinion on all of it?” 

Lance sighs. “He would just get really upset whenever I asked him about it…” He mumbles. “The older I got, the less he talked to me about it. As if it was getting better, when really it was getting worse. But I don’t know.” He rubs one of his eyes. “Hayden had his own shit going on. He was having marriage issues, and was really close to losing his job. He was an airline pilot...like, a regular one. He hated the job. And his wife was kind of a nightmare. But despite all of that, he was still kind to me. More of a father than my father was.” 

Hunk nods in agreement, looking sad. 

“Anyway, as soon as I was old enough to pursue education elsewhere, he kind of started pulling disappearing acts too. Not nearly as much as my dad, but it was noticeable. He lost his airline job and my dad offered him another job--flying around celebrities in private jets. Still not what he wanted to do, but he needed the money. And no matter how much my dad offered, he didn’t accept any handouts. He wanted to work for it. And...I don’t know. After he got that job, I really didn’t see him much. But it was around the time that I...well, that my PR team decided it would be a good idea for me to have a talk show, so...I was super busy and didn’t really notice anymore.” He sniffs. “But yeah...Hayden was kind of the guy who raised me. You know. He took me to water parks and played tennis with me. He scolded me when I was wrong, which nobody else ever did. He was...yeah.” 

The room is silent for a bit after that. Keith doesn’t really know what to say. He does, however, realize that he could probably listen to Lance talk for an absurd amount of time and never really get sick of the sound of his voice; which is a bit of a terrifying thought because a few months ago the sound of Lance’s voice made Keith borderline suicidal. 

“And your dad?” Hunk pushes lightly. “Any good memories of him?” 

Lance shrugs. “Probably.” He says. “But...they don’t seem important anymore.” 

Lance’s resentment for his father runs deep. No wonder he was such a menace to Keith when they first met. Keith must have deeply disturbed him, just by existing. 

“Hold on. Wait, I think I found something.” Hunk says suddenly, staring down at his computer with a focused gaze. “Keith, let me see your tattoo again?” 

Keith raises an eyebrow, and then leans over, lifting the cuff of his pant leg. The small, triangular tattoo sits comfortably on his ankle. Hunk scoots in closer to get a better look. “Huh.” he says. “I knew it looked familiar.” 

“What? Familiar?” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it before.”

“That’s impossible.” 

Hunk slowly leans away from Keith’s ankle and goes back to his laptop, furiously typing again. He doesn’t appear to be giving away any information anytime soon. Keith fights the urge to roll his eyes. Meanwhile, Pidge stands up and starts hanging all of the papers from the wallet up on Keith’s living room wall. 

“We have to find some kind of connection between all these people.” She says. 

“They’re all dead.” Lance says, unamused. 

“Something  _ else _ , you dingus.”

“Ah-hah!” Hunk interrupts, pointing at his laptop screen. “I knew I’d seen something like it before. See?” He turns his laptop around, revealing an image of a brick wall, covered almost completely with graffiti. The colors are bright and neon and swirl together beautifully, creating something that looks like clouds and the ocean all at the same time. But…

“I don’t see any triangles anywhere.” Lance says, taking the words right out of Keith’s mouth. “You sure you’re feelin’ okay, buddy?” 

Hunk huffs. “Don’t look at the colors, Lance. Look at the shapes  _ between _ the colors.” 

All three of them scoot closer to the screen, squinting. Lance and Keith look at each other, still lost. Pidge snaps her fingers. 

“Oh man! Yes, there it is!” She sounds excited. Hunk laughs happily.

“See? Told you!” He breathes out in relief. “This is a mural on 17th and Monroe. I pass by it sometimes when I’m getting Lance his supremely obnoxious Wednesday Bagel.” 

“I don’t eat carbs!” Lance squeaks defensively. Hunk ignores him. 

“The resemblance to the tattoo is a little insane.” 

Keith shakes his head. “Okay wait, but why is it there? I mean...couldn’t that just be an artistic coincidence?” 

Hunk shrugs. “Could be. But it’s a start. It’s on the face of a building super close to that bar you were telling me about.” 

Keith hesitates. “Empire?” 

“Yeah. So it may be correlated. Who knows? Guess we’ll have to go there and scout around.” 

Yet again, Lance and Keith share a look. Pidge sighs. 

“They’re not going to keep up, are they?” She says, but it sounds fond. Hunk grins at her. 

“Probably not.” 

 

><><><><><

 

Keith seeks refuge in the kitchen after another twenty minutes of speculation because his brain starts to hurt. He forgot how much thinking it took just to be in the same room as Pidge. She sees the world in a much more complex way than he does; he wonders how she doesn’t have a perpetual migraine simply from knowing too many things. He takes an advil and pours himself a cup of tea, not-so-gently falling forward until his forehead presses against the counter. The clock on the wall ticks loudly, indicating the time passing ever so slowly. 

Suddenly he hears someone walk in. He turns his head to the side and cracks one eye open, seeing Hunk looking down at him with a small, disapproving frown on his face. 

Keith stands up straight again and laughs awkwardly. “I, uh, got kind of tired.” He says. “Everyone out there is too smart.” It’s not really something he would normally say, but it’s because he’s got a feeling Hunk isn’t crazy about him. He’s not sure why he even cares what he thinks, but he’s positive it has something to do with his disgustingly pathetic crush on Hunk’s best friend. 

Hunk just hums, looking away. He walks over to the sink and fills a glass with water. He makes sure his back is turned completely towards Keith. Keith swallows. 

“Look, man,” Keith starts, taking a few steps towards Hunk’s very tense and unapproachable presence. “I, uh, m’not sure what I did, but…?” 

Hunk turns around, clutching the glass of water in his hand. His eyes are angry--thick eyebrows pinched together.

“I’m his  _ manager _ , Keith.” Hunk says. “I know about all the press. The dating rumors, and whatever. I’m not an idiot.” 

“I--what? No, we’re not  _ actually-- _ ” 

“I know you’re not dating Lance for real.” Hunk replies, voice frustrated. “I know it’s just rumors. But rumors typically come from something. You guys have been hanging out a lot.” 

“Well, the whole  _ murder mystery _ thing has kind of been taking up our time.” Keith says defensively. Hunk takes a tired breath.

“Look...This kind of crap has happened before, Keith. You’re not the first person Lance has accidentally gotten close to.” 

Keith feels a twisting in his gut. “I’m not--” 

“And he  _ always _ gets hurt. Every single time.” Hunk gives Keith a onceover, looking displeased. “Why do you think he’s so aggravating when he meets new people? You’re not an exception.” 

“I never said I was an exception.” 

“It’s my job to look out for him.” Hunk responds, placing his glass onto the counter. “And I’m not entirely sure what you want from him, but right now your resume isn’t looking stellar. Car gang? Borderline suicide attempt? Do you even remember the fight you had with him on the roof? That kind of stuff can’t be unsaid.” 

Keith shakes his head furiously, starting to feel exposed. “No, that’s not--I mean, things are  _ different _ now.” His voice cracks. “I’m really sorry I said all that stuff. I was...in a bad place. And yeah, I didn’t used to be a huge fan but…” He nervously wrings his hands together. “There’s nothing going on between us or anything, I swear. But...just, opinions can change, okay?” 

Hunk sighs, but his expression doesn’t change. “Fine,” He says shortly. “Just...Don’t hurt him. Especially with all of this ‘dating’ press...only making it worse.” His expression finally softens every so slightly. “He doesn’t have many people left to trust, alright? And for some unfounded reason, you are one of them. So...don’t mess it up.”

Keith nods, throat dry. Hunk still doesn’t look any more pleased with him as he walks out of the kitchen.  

  
  


><><><><><

  
  


Keith’s second relationship was doomed from the start. It was less than a year after his father passed away and he was basically looking for reasons to destroy his life. That’s not to say that he didn’t love the guy, though. Chase was deep and interesting. He seemed to understand Keith on a level that Keith found incredibly intriguing. Right after his father died, Keith embarked on a string of one night stands as if this would somehow make him feel whole, but none of them ever had any effect on him. Chase, however, captured his attention. They were both enveloped by each other. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it was exactly what Keith needed. Unlike Myles, Chase was dark and sensitive, with the bone structure of a greek god. Keith found it easy to get lost in him--to forget what being numb was and forget about all of his loss. 

But there came a point where having sex and talking about the endless void of the universe wasn’t enough to stop Keith from falling into that numb feeling. When he started acting out, Chase didn’t notice at first. But it was only a matter of time. One night, Keith came back to their apartment with shards of glass embedded into his hands and dried blood staining his jeans; he had tried punching the window of a car in, and ended up hurting himself more than he hurt the car. This wasn’t the first time he came home injured, and Chase was always very kind about it. He would nurse Keith’s wounds and plant soft kisses on his knuckles. 

That one night, however, seemed to cross the line. 

_ “I love you, Keith.” _ Chase had said, dark bags under defeated eyes. _ “But caring about you...it’s so exhausting sometimes.”  _

_ “W-What do you mean?” _ Keith had asked, feeling his heart begin to break. 

_ “I just mean...god, Keith. It’s so hard to love you.”  _

_ It’s so hard to love you.  _

Keith knew what he meant. 

 

><><><><><

 

Keith is outside on his balcony for probably the second time since he moved into his loft, trying to calm down after the craziness of having more than one human being in his apartment at the same time. A couple of hours after Keith’s friendly chat with Hunk in the kitchen, Pidge and Hunk decided to go out for drinks and have “actual intellectual conversation”, leaving Keith and Lance alone again. They already decided to meet up sometime at the end of the week to visit that random mural, which Keith isn’t very optimistic about, but Hunk seems pretty adamant on checking it out. 

Lance is in the kitchen, doing god knows what, and Keith finds himself wondering why he hasn’t left yet. Why does he always stick around longer than he’s supposed to? Doesn’t he have a crazy schedule? Doesn’t he have other things to do? 

The door slides open, and then shut again. Keith doesn’t even bother to turn around before Lance is talking. “Well, I’d say that was a productive work session.” He says happily. “Looks like we both have disgustingly intelligent friends.” 

Keith snorts. “Right.” He says. Lance is next to him in a second, shoving a glass of something brown underneath Keith’s nose. Keith raises an eyebrow, looking down at it. 

“What on earth is this?” He asks, unamused. 

“It’s a drink. I made it.” He prods at Keith’s cheek with the warm mug. “Take it.” 

Keith takes it into his hands and brings it up to his nose, sniffing it. It smells like cinnamon. And honey. He hums subconsciously, looking at Lance. Lance’s smile is beaming. 

“What’s in it?” Keith asks. 

“Try it and find out.” 

Keith shrugs, feeling himself flush all the way to his ankles as Lance watches him bring the mug to his lips. The drink is hot--but not too hot. Just right. It’s sweet and spicy and dense. Keith’s eyes flutter shut as he savors it. When they open, Lance is biting his lip, a gentle smile on his face that looks like he couldn’t control it even if he tried. 

“Is this...tea?” Keith asks. 

Lance nods. “Yeah. Couldn’t do much with the ingredients you had. I think your cinnamon expired like eight months ago, by the way. But yeah, it’s tea. With some other things. Hayden used to make it for me all the time when I was a kid.” Lance laughs lightly. “I was always too hyper for coffee. Felt left out whenever he drank it...so he made up this concoction for me.” 

At this point Keith doesn’t even know why the fuck he’s blushing; he just knows that if anything cold touches his cheeks, it would probably make a sizzling noise. “It’s delicious.” He says earnestly. Lance hums. 

“It is,” He agrees. And then, “Thanks.” 

They are silent for a moment. Keith takes another sip, feeling it loosen him up from the inside out. It’s the opposite of any drink that he would equate with Lance Martinez. When he thinks of Lance, he thinks of fruit punch and matcha smoothies and margaritas. 

He takes another sip, studying the dim moonlight as it scatters across Lance’s smooth skin. 

Actually, this drink is pretty fitting. 

“Is it stupid that I’m excited?” Lance asks, snapping Keith out of his reverie. 

“About what?” 

Lance swallows. “I don’t know. Like, finding more evidence. Feeling like we’re making progress.” He shrugs. “I know it’s a reach. It’s kind of dumb to believe in it, right?” 

Keith smirks. “Will saying it’s dumb stop you from believing in it?” 

Lance frowns slightly, hesitating for a moment. “No.”

“Then what’s the point of asking?” 

Lance’s serious expression breaks into a smile. He chuckles. “You really don’t see how you’re a teddy bear?” 

“God, shut up.” Keith laughs. “No, I don’t.” 

“Hm.” 

Lance takes a sip of the drink in his hand, most likely the same one that Keith has. He taps the tips of his long fingers on the rim of the mug, looking a little lost in thought. Keith stares. 

He hears Hunk’s words in his head.  _ You’re not the first person Lance has accidentally gotten close to….He always gets hurt. Every single time _

The words tumble out. 

“Tell me something about you.” Keith says, sounding a little crazy. “Something stupid...that nobody knows.” 

Lance laughs, looking shocked. His eyebrow knit together in confusion as he turns to look at Keith. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve gotta practice telling people things, right?” Keith stumbles through the sentence. “Besides, I...you know.” He shrugs, looking away. “I could stand to learn more about you.” 

Lance leans away from the railing of the balcony, standing up straight to look at Keith. His face looks conflicted for a moment--still incredibly lost. Then he smirks. “Okay…” He says. “Well if that’s the case, then you go first.”    
“Me?” Keith repeats. “But I’m...not interesting.” 

“Neither am I.”

Keith frowns. “Okay, fine.” He says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the lion tooth keychain, holding it tightly in his hand. Heart beating a little faster, he reaches out and opens his palm, letting Lance see it. “My dad gave me this keychain when I was in middle school,” he says. “I carry it everywhere I go, no matter what. It’s hard for me to function without it...no joke.” 

Lance frowns slightly--out of pity or maybe something else, and reaches down to touch the keychain. He stops right above it, hand hovering. 

“Can I?” He asks. Keith swallows, nodding. 

Lance gently takes it out of his hand, fingers brushing against his palm. Keith feels the need to wipe the feeling away on his jeans before it engulfs him completely, but he resists the urge. 

“Is there a story?” Lance asks, studying the tooth. 

“Yeah.” Keith says. “But now it’s your turn.” 

Lance nods, like he’s accepting his fate, and hands the chain back to Keith. Keith pockets it again, and then goes to take another sip of his drink. 

“I’m a virgin.” Lance says. 

Keith promptly spits everything in his mouth onto the railing in front of him. Lance laughs breathlessly, like he was expecting it. 

“What?” Keith asks, stunned. Tea dribbles off of his chin as he stares at Lance with his mouth hanging open.  _ “What?” _

“Yeah.” Lance says, using his elbows to lean against the railing. He has a smile on his face, eyes crinkling irresistibly at the corners. “Fame leaves a lot of time for  _ rumors _ about fucking, but unfortunately not a lot of time for  _ actually _ fucking.” He says. “Especially when you become famous as a kid.” He turns to Keith. “Also, I just never really cared enough, I guess. About anyone. They were in and out of my life before we ever got there. A few people came close to it, but…” He shrugs. “Yeah, it just hasn’t happened.” 

Keith is only computing about 4% of what Lance is saying. “But--you, like--  _ how _ ?” He sputters. “You’re into everyone!” 

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Does it seem like that?” He asks innocently. “Maybe I’m just really nice.” 

“You--you flirt with  _ everyone _ .” Keith argues. “And everyone is into you!” 

Lance’s smirk is growing and Keith is still so in shock that he doesn’t notice. “You think?” He asks, clearly playing dumb. 

“Well,  _ yeah _ . Look at you.” Keith says. 

Lance steps in closer now. So close that it manages to pull Keith out of the mild shocked state he fell into. Lance’s breath dusts across his face and sends a heatwave through his bloodstream. 

“Interesting.” Lance says, voice low. “Super interesting, actually. You in that category, gorgeous?” 

Keith blinks up at him with eyes that he hopes don’t reflect how much he definitely  _ is _ in that category. “Of course not.” He chokes out. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Lance hums, and just the sound of it makes Keith want to die. Then he takes a step back, giggling a little. “Alright, alright.” He says, smiling and rolling his eyes a little playfully. “You win this round.” 

Keith tries to laugh, but it comes out a bit like a relieved huff. “‘Course I do.” 

“You’re right, by the way.” Lance says, voice back to normal. “I guess sometimes, telling people things  _ can _ be nice.” 

Keith catches his breath. “Yeah,” He says. “As long as the people don’t suck.” 

A humorless laugh. “Right.” 

Keith goes to take another sip and finds that his glass is empty. He stares down at the mess of tea leaves sitting in the bottom of his mug. He wants another glass of it. He wants a pitcher of it. God, he wants Lance so bad. 

“I’ve met a lot of shitty people, doing what I do.” Lance says, nodding to himself. “People who only want me for certain things...or pretend to like me.” He laughs. “You never pretended to like me, though.” 

Keith laughs too, ducking his head to hide his face. “Guess I didn’t.” 

Lance grins, looking up at the sky. There really aren't many stars out tonight, but...there may as well be. “I’m going to say something…” He starts, hesitantly, “and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.” 

Keith takes a deep breath. “...okay?” 

A moment passes. The two. And then, “I have a hard time giving a shit about people.” Lance says. “You know, childhood trauma and all that.” He mumbles it like he’s talked about it a thousand times. “But you…” He looks at Keith now, expression open and so very sincere. “You are...really easy to give a shit about.” 

  
  


><><><><><

  
  


Keith doesn’t sleep at all that night. 


	7. Jaguar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith learns acceptance. also, a bit of fake dating. uh...feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you're wondering; yes. i will be dragging this story out for a long as possible because I'm having fun and don't want it to end when it's supposed to.
> 
> if things seem unrealistic in this story, i apologize. it's late, im exhausted haha. if you want to critique my work and the accuracy of my story ill save you some time--i have no idea what im doing, and i am fully aware of this fact. please dont point it out to me--i do this for fun, have mercyyyy
> 
> sorry this chapter took so long...life is...insane, man. this chap is mostly self indulgent, some angst, mystery building, and a little bit of relationship development. but i hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> love you all! <3

All it takes is one article about Keith buying toilet paper. Just  _ one article _ , and suddenly everyone on the entire fucking planet knows who he is. 

He tried to go for a run yesterday morning and was rudely interrupted by four teenage boys, who shoved their phone cameras into his face and demanded he pose for them. They seem mystified to see him in public, as if Keith has just been this mysterious, vampire entity that Lance literally dragged out of the floorboards. 

Then on his way back from Target, a mother and her daughter who were “Lance’s biggest fans” tracked him down and brought a brood of giggling, excited women with them. Keith was awkwardly answering questions for almost an hour. 

Now, Keith is at Burger King just trying to buy a six piece nugget, and there are low voices coming from somewhere behind him that are very clearly discussing his presence. 

“Woah, what’s wrong with his face?” One of them murmurs to his friend, thinking Keith can’t hear just because he has his back turned to them. 

“Maybe he got into another fist fight.” The other mumbles back. “I heard he’s like, kind of a loose cannon.” 

Keith scowls. Loose cannon?

Well, actually, that’s kind of accurate.

“Isn’t he the guy dating Martinez?” One of them asks in a whisper. “I heard they adopted a kid or something.” 

“What? That’s insane. They just got together.”

“Nah, man, they’ve been dating in secret for like, three years of something crazy like that.” 

Keith stares down at his shoes. What the fuck? What are they talking about? Literally none of that information is accurate. Do facts really get that twisted that quickly? 

“I think they’re already married.” One of the guys says as Keith tunes back into the conversation.

“No way, if Martinez got married it would be on the national news.” 

“Maybe they just wanted to keep it simple?” 

Keith rolls his eyes, trying very hard not to imagine him and Lance anywhere near a wedding. He takes out his phone, opting to distract himself. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ I have an update on the dating rumors _

 

The response is almost instant 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Do tell  _

 

**Keith**

 

_ We’ve been secretly married for three years and we’re adopting a kid  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Awww so romanticcc! _

 

Keith bites back a smile. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Where do people get this stuff?  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ They manufacture it. People fantasize about us, Kogane. U should be flattered  _

 

Keith blushes. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ It kinda feels a little violating _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ You get used to it after a while, gorgeous  _

 

_ Ive heard some pretty wild stories about myself _

 

“What can I get for you sir?”

Keith looks up, feeling like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. When his eyes meet the cashier’s, she gasps. 

“Oh my god! You’re the guy--!” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” Keith says, frustrated. “Can I please just have a 6-piece nugget?” 

She starts ringing up his order. “So is it true then? You, like,  _ tamed the beast _ .” Her eyes are alight with excitement. “You guys must be crazy about each other.”

“We  _ so _ are.” Keith says emotionlessly, flighting to roll his eyes.

“Can I get a picture?” 

Keith frowns slightly. “Not...really my thing.” 

She nods solemnly. “Wanna keep it mysterious? I get it. It’s on brand for you.”  

Keith wants to shout  _ I’m not mysterious!  _ He doesn’t even know where that stereotype came from. His ripped jeans? “Right.” He says, unconvinced, as he hands her a five. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ One time, I had a twin brother who I was secretly madly in love with. It was the scandal of the year _

 

Keith looks down at his phone, wrinkling his nose. 

 

**Keith**

  
_ What ??? _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Rumors ive heard about myself, Kogane. Jeez, keep up. Oh, one time i was apparently in jail for stealing 12 million dollars from a bubble tea company  _

 

**Keith**

 

_ That’s...bizarre _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Yeah _

 

Keith is picking up his nuggets and booking it out of the Burger King when his phone lights up with another text. 

 

_ So I guess dating you isn’t so bad :p _

 

><><><><><

 

“I get that we all agreed to come see this place.” Hunk says hesitantly. “But did it have to be at 3AM? Like, couldn’t it be during daylight hours? When people could find our bodies if we mysteriously died?” 

“Hunk, as my manager you  _ know _ I can’t do this shit during the day.” Lance mumbles, staying close to Keith as they wade through the darkness. 

Pidge, Hunk, and Lance all agreed to meet Keith at his place so they could venture to this abandoned mural on the side of a building near Keith’s favorite bar, Empire. It wouldn’t be a very big deal, except for the fact that it is very, very dark. 

“Hunk, I thought you drove by this thing every day?” Pidge says.

“I do! But during the day you don’t really notice that there aren’t any street lights.” He replies hesitantly. “Also, during the day there are, like, other people around. Like, alive people.” 

Normally, Keith wouldn’t be scared of the dark. There are a lot of other things he fears more than darkness. But in this context, it’s slightly different. In this context, they are trying to solve a potentially horrible murder case, and--

“This is usually the part in the movie where someone dies.” Pidge says, reading Keith’s mind. “I vote Lance.” 

Lance snorts. “That would be ironic.” For as dark and terrifying as it is, Lance doesn’t seem to be at all terrified either. In fact, he looks rather bored, glancing around at the deserted road. “Are we there yet?” 

“It should be coming up soon.” Hunk says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Lance’s bagel place is probably a few blocks over.” 

“For the last time, I don’t eat carbs!” Lance shrieks defensively. He’s obviously lying, but Keith finds it cute. Aggravatingly cute. 

He tries not to think about what Lance told him on the balcony a few days ago. 

He tries, really hard, to remember that Lance began the statement with,  _ ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way…’ _

He tries really,  _ really _ hard not to take it the wrong way.

The road around them gets impossibly darker as they round the corner. Keith feels his heart rate pick up slightly as the darkness starts to swallow them more and more. There is a warm, tingling feeling crackling to life in his nerves--a pleasant feeling that he knows is adrenaline. The sleepiness that was previously tugging at all of his limbs is slowly seeping out of him as a building comes into view, growing larger and larger in front of them.

The closer they walk to the building, the clearer the paint on it appears. It is rough-looking. It looks like it’s wearing off the bumpy, presumably red brick beneath it. In the very sparse moonlight, it all looks navy blue. Gray. But it’s definitely the same mural that Hunk showed them on his laptop. And looking at it now, Keith can see the overall pattern of his tattoo, so hidden and yet so incredibly obvious. They all stand in front of it for a moment, not saying anything. 

Keith takes a small breath and revels in the sudden feeling of fear, of anticipation, that burns in his bones. The sharpening of his eyesight in the near blackness. The small sounds his ears are picking up as they adjust to the quiet. There is no numbness here. Keith is alive. He feels  _ alive _ , and he wants to make sure he stays this way. He wants to run up to the building and scrape his palms along the rough brick; to feel it tearing at his skin and digging into his fingerprints. He wants to feel  _ more _ . He wants--

Lance is looking at him. 

Concerned eyes. 

“Looks like this is it!” Hunks says, stating the obvious, but in a cheerful voice. His remark seems to make Lance snap his gaze away. 

“Looks like it.” Lance agrees. 

“It’s actually really...beautiful?” Pidge says, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I hope nobody was actually murdered here.” 

“That would be too obvious.” Hunk replies, frowning as he walks up closer to the brick wall. 

Keith swallows, trying to calm down his thudding heart. This isn’t a good time for one of his...episodes. There is work to be done. And Hunk already has a horrible impression of him, so he probably shouldn’t be making it worse, right? He’s got to calm down. Taking a deep breath, he tries, for a second, to place his focus on a singular brick in front of him. 

His brain briefly flashes back to the time his dad tried to teach himself how to paint. He had ended up covering the entire kitchen with it. He was cleaning for days. 

_ Stop that, Keith. Focus. _

A flash of his dad on the fourth of July, slumped in a wheelchair and staring at the fireworks with sad, defeated eyes. 

_ Focus on the brick, Keith. _

Ambulance lights. The sound of Shiro’s voice, yelling frantically. Afraid.

_ The brick, Keith. The-- _

“Keith.” Lance’s voice is somehow soft and urgent at the same time, very close to his ear. “Hey. Snap out of it, man.” A warm hand on his shoulder shakes him lightly. 

Keith shrugs it away. “M’fine.” He mumbles, taking a few steps away from Lance and towards the mural. He feels embarrassed, maybe even a little ashamed, at the burden he causes other people by being this way. His ex, Chase, always used to tell him it was exhausting. 

A glance backwards is enough to tell him that Lance’s concern has only gotten worse. He sighs, shaking his head and turning away again. Choosing to ignore everything that just happened, Keith attempts to push the feeling down and walks up to the brick wall. Lifting a hand slowly, he presses his fingertip into the rough brick and drags it down. Some of the paint chips off. It flakes and falls to his feet. Keith breathes through the sensation and then--Wait. 

“You guys.” He hears himself saying. “Check this out.” He runs his finger down the brick again. Paint continues to flake off. But even then… “There are... _ so many _ layers of this paint. Hunk, do you know how long this has been around for? Is there a date somewhere or something?”

“Uhh.” Hunk raises an eyebrow and starts surveying the corners of the mural for a date. “I know it’s like, sometime within the last two years? Hmmm.” He snaps his fingers, pointing to the bottom left corner. “There! April 2016.” 

“Wait, what?” Lance frowns, looking distraught. “That was….That was when he died, you guys. My dad.” 

“This thing looks like it’s been painted over. Like, there are at least six layers of paint on this portion.” Keith says frantically, peeling at the paint. The brick isn’t even visible yet.

“It’s acrylic paint.” Pidge says, mostly to herself. “It’s not spray paint. Acrylic paint isn’t usually the first choice for street art, because it can peel like this when too much of it is layered on top of itself.” 

“I feel like this has been around a lot longer than two years.” Hunk mumbles, starting to peel a bit at the paint too. “It seems to be thicker where the triangles are.” 

“Maybe this used to be a meeting place.” Keith says, feeling like they might finally be on to something.” Like, maybe, for a really long time, this was the old Empire where all the car thieves hung out. And then they painted over it with a mural two years ago.” 

“And they just  _ happened _ to paint over it the same month and year that my dad disappeared?” Lance asks, skeptical. 

“This had to have been something else before. This mural has got to have been around for longer, and it was probably still the same symbol, just painted different ways.” Keith argues.  

“Let’s look around,” Hunk says, at the exact same time as Pidge says “We should look around.” They look at each other and grin. Lance and Keith share an unamused glance. 

“Yeah.” Lance says. “Yeah, we should probably do that.” 

“What even  _ is _ this building?” Keith asks quietly as they make their way over to the front entrance. “It doesn’t look like it’s anything.” 

“I always try to guess when I drive by.” Hunk replies from behind him. “But it mostly just looks abandoned.” 

The front face of the building it pretty fucking desolate. Keith can’t even try to sugarcoat it. The windows in the front door are cracked. The brick looks like it’s been eaten away by years and years of bad weather. Ivy curls and swallows the building from the bottom up, but none of it is alive anymore. It’s brown and dry and sad-looking, engulfing the decaying building in a sinister, tentacle-like way. 

Adrenaline courses through Keith’s veins.

“Maybe we...shouldn’t.” Hunk says tentatively. 

But Keith marches forward and grabs the door knob. He can tell it’s supposed to be locked, but the wood gives in and the door cracks open with an ugly breaking sound. Hunk squeaks. “Keith, we really shouldn’t. I change my mind.” 

Keith looks into the blackness. Swallowing hard, he takes his phone out of his pocket, turning his flashlight on. His heart thumps painfully hard in his chest. He is incredibly intrigued. 

“Keith…” Lance is next to him in an instant. “Maybe we should turn back. This doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Don’t you want to know what this is?” Keith snaps. “We might  _ finally _ be on to something.” 

Lance bites his lip, looking honest to god terrified. “We don’t know what’s in there. I…can’t afford to get hurt right now.” He whispers. “People will wonder what happened to me, and--” 

“Lance this is bigger than your talk show. And your stupid photo ops, alright?” Keith pushes. He can feel how aggressive he’s getting, but he can’t help it. The feeling is so close, he’s frantic for it. It lights a dangerous fire in his bones. The numbness taunts him like a tidal wave waiting to crash. He suddenly misses stealing cars. He misses driving. “This is huge. We gotta go in.” 

Lance is scowling now. “You’re being a dick.” He says. “You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing  _ what _ ?” 

Lane swallows, still frowning. “Don’t play dumb, Keith. You know exactly what you’re doing.” His voice is quiet. It’s a little angry. “This isn’t safe. And I know you  _ like _ that stuff, but--” 

“I’m going in, Lance.” Keith mumbles angrily, pushing past him. And he feels guilty. Really, he does. He feels like he’s letting a lot of people down. He feels his father, staring from somewhere above him, asking him when he started being so selfish. But there are times when Keith just can’t be that loving boy that his father thought he was. 

He hears Lance groan in frustration from behind him. 

And then he hears soft footsteps following him in. 

“Just to be clear, I’m not in here because you’re being an asshole.” Lance hisses as he keeps close behind Keith. “I’m here because for some reason, I don’t want you to die.”

Keith doesn’t answer, but the heat in his cheeks makes the adrenalin seem fuzzier. Less sharp. Just for a moment. He lifts his phone flashlight to the room in front of them. From far away, he hears Hunk and Pidge calling their names. 

“No freaking way. We’re staying out here!” Hunk says. 

“You people are crazy.” Pidge supplies as evidentiary support. “There are smarter ways to do this!” 

Keith ignores it. He squints slightly as white light bathes the room in front of them. And…

“It’s completely empty.” Lance says, sounding shocked. “It’s...like,  _ completely _ empty.”

Keith feels himself frowning. “It almost looks... _ clean _ .” He moves his flashlight along the wall, scanning over the room. “It honestly looks like it’s been cleared out and  _ cleaned _ by someone.” 

“What on earth is happening.” Lance mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself. “I literally don’t understand any of this.” 

“Wait.” Keith silences him. “I’m sure we can find something.” 

“Whatever you say, Sherlock.” Lance sounds frustrated. Keith feels frustrated.

He doesn’t want to give up. 

He reaches out as he walks, running his hand across the wall as if this will actually help him find something. Lance follows close behind him. 

“You smell like sweat.” Lance mumbles unpleasantly. 

“Must be because I’m sweating.” 

“If I die in here, it is your fault. And I will blame you, and only you, forever.”

“What a blessing.” 

“I’ll haunt you from the grave. Your life will be a living nightmare.” 

“Will you stop talking please?” Keith snaps. “I’m trying to concentrate.” 

Finally, his fingers catch oh something. 

The same squishy, semi-tacky feeling as the paint outside. Keith freezes, causing Lance to crash into him from behind. 

“Ow! What gives?” Lance shrieks, finally at full volume. Keith winces. 

“I think I found something.” 

“What?” 

“Here. Put your hand here.” Keith grabs Lance’s wrist and pulls it up to the wall. Lance place’s his fingers where Keith’s were. “You feel that?” 

“I don’t get it. It’s just paint.” Lance sounds unimpressed. 

“Yeah, but why is it that only  _ this _ section of the wall has been recently painted? With a  _ lot _ of layers of paint?” 

Lance shrugs. 

Keith starts peeling. “Help me.” He says, as the thick, dried paint starts to peel off like rubber.

“I don’t get it.” Lance mumbles. “Why would they use this shitty plastic paint if they were so desperate to cover something up?” 

Keith shrugs. “Maybe two years ago it was great. But humidity and heat and rain...not so great for longevity. It starts to peel and flake after a while. What do a bunch of car thieves know about outdoor painting?” 

“I guess you have a point.” 

They sit in tense silence for a while, just peeling and peeling and peeling. Keith’s flashlight illuminates the space between them. His fingers start to sting from all the picking and digging. The air is thick with humidity...and slight irritation. But as the quiet continues, the tension begins to fade away. Slowly, the air becomes more breathable. 

“Hey Keith?” Lance says, after a while. “Can I tell you something? For your ears only?” 

Keith snorts. “For my ears only?” He says, opting to ignore the fluttering in his chest.  

“Yeah. No fans, or reporters, or...other ears. Your ears only.” Lance confirms. 

“I guess?” 

Lance smiles a little, resting his head on the wall and staring at the small piece of paint he is currently peeling off. “I used to take painting classes with my dad.” He admits softly. “When I was really little.” 

Keith feels himself grinning. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah…” Lance peels off another big chunk. “It was just, like, arts and crafts. I honestly think he just did it for the press, now that I see it in hindsight.” Lances smiles falters. “But it was still...really nice. We actually got to talk...and I loved it.” 

The silence lingers between them. Keith’s fingers pause and he allows himself a look at Lance’s adorable, freckled cheeks. 

And then, “Hey Lance?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I tell you something...for your ears only?” 

A grin slowly spreads across Lance’s face as he picks at the paint. “Yeah…” 

Keith clears his throat. “M’sorry...for being a dick before.” He says quietly. “I get like that sometimes...and I’m sure your dad did too.” 

Lance’s grin closes into a gentle smile again. He looks wistful. “Yeah.” 

“I’m just...really desperate for the feeling sometimes.” Keith turns his attention back to the paint. “And I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

Lance nods slightly. “I know.” He says in a sad voice. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.” 

Keith lets out a long breath. “Yeah...okay.” 

And then suddenly, Keith sees something. 

In the small patch of picked-away paint, he sees something. 

“What the…” Lance breathes, leaning away slightly. “Do you see that too?” 

“Yeah…” 

They both shuffle backwards simultaneously, sitting back and staring. 

“It looks like...random numbers?” Keith says hesitantly. 

Revealed on the wall beneath the paint is a series of faded, smudged numbers that don’t seem to have anything in common with each other. Each one is about five digits. They are hard to read, but Keith can still make them out if he really tries. 

“They look random to me.” He states. Lance turns towards the direction of what is, presumably, the front entrance. 

“Pidge! Hunk! We think we found something!” He calls.

A voice, from farther away than Keith expected, calls back, “Then come out  _ here _ and show us!” 

Lance scoffs, fishing his phone out of his pocket and snapping a picture of the revealed numbers. “Why would they try so hard to hide these?” He mumbles to himself. Keith shrugs. 

“I don’t know, but I bet they are important. We should go back to my place and try to figure it out.” 

Lance stands up, looking a little shaky. “Jeez.” He says, exasperated. “What kind of shit did my dad get into? I mean I always knew he got into shit, but…” He looks away. “Jeez.” 

Keith sighs, not really knowing what to say. Well, he  _ does _ know what to say, but Lance won’t like it. He wants to say that this isn’t really all that surprising for him; that when you are chasing a high, you’ll do absolutely anything to get it. He wants to say that sometimes the things you chase end up being bizarre. And they end up hurting you...a lot. 

Instead, he says, “We’ve got another piece in the puzzle now.” It sounds a lot more positive than he feels. “I think we’re really on to something.” 

Lance gives him a hesitant smile. “Yeah. Maybe.” 

 

><><><><><

 

“Hey, Shiro. What’s up,” Keith drawls sleepily into his phone, burrowing himself underneath his covers. The sun is rising and he’s just about to go to bed. Working with Lance all night has actually been a positive change for his sleep schedule--he’s so fucking exhausted that he actually  _ sleeps _ . And it’s a heavy sleep. A sleep with less nightmares. 

“Did you know that there is a rumor going around that you are dating Lance Martinez?” Shiro sounds wide awake. Like he’s just starting his day after a full night of rest. Keith is willing to believe he’s already gone on a run and showered. And--wait. Fuck. What did Shiro just say? 

With all of the publicity that has been going around about Keith and Lance apparently dating, Keith has been trying really hard not to have  _ super _ long conversations with Shiro. It’s not that he’s avoiding him, it’s just that he knows how involved Shiro is with all of the Hollywood trends. Waiting for shit to hit the fan has been very stressful for him to think about. He keeps waiting for Shiro to call him, freaking out. He knew it was going to happen any day now, but he wasn’t ready for today to be the day. 

Keith plays dumb. 

“What?” 

Shiro chuckles. “Right, I forgot you live under a rock,” He teases. “I was just checking out E!News and theres like this massive article about how you’re apparently dating Martinez?” 

Keith narrows his eyes suspiciously. He hasn’t heard of an E!News article yet, but that is a  _ huge _ platform. How big was this going to get? 

Before he can jump in to defend himself, Shiro laughs. “Hollywood is so bizarre. You were only on his show for like, six minutes.” He continues laughing. “If only they know how much you loathe that guy!” 

Keith laughs weakly, relief flooding all of his senses. There is no way he could stomach telling Shiro the truth. He needs to keep Lance’s secret. He needs to prove to Lance that some people can just  _ care _ . Some people just want to know for the sake of knowing, not telling. 

He just wants to live in this fantasy where he doesn’t have to say how he feels about Lance. Out loud.  _ Ever _ . 

Also? Shiro would lose his shit. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Keith lies, “but I can imagine that they managed to create a whole lot out of nothing.” 

Shiro laughs again. “Secret  _ video chatting _ ? Jesus, these people are creative.” 

Keith chuckles nervously. “When in Hollywood, I guess.” It sounds a little out of character for him. A little corny. But he’s blushing furiously and just wants Shiro to change the subject. 

“I’m almost jealous.” Shiro replies. “I’m the one who needs publicity and you’re getting all of it!” He’s totally joking, and Keith knows that too. Keith wants to say,  _ I’ll get you all the publicity you need! Soon! _ But he holds his tongue. 

“Guess I wasn’t meant to be a Hollywood man.” Shiro continues wistfully. Keith hears him shrug. “Well, I just wanted to run that by you, because I’ve been laughing about it all morning.” 

Keith gives a halfhearted chuckle in return. “Yeah, I totally get why. It’s absolutely insane.” He agrees. “Uh, I gotta go to the gym.” Another lie. “Talk to you later?” 

“Sure.” Then a pause. “Is everything okay, Keith?” His voice is a little smaller. Tender. 

Keith sighs, long and hard through his nose. “It’s been up and down.” He says, honestly. “But I’m working through it.” That one is less honest. “Okay? Gotta run.” 

“Right.” Shiro says. “Love you, Keith.” 

Keith swallows hard, covering his face with the comforter. “...Love you too, Shiro.” 

 

><><><><><

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Hey, gorgeous. For your ears only?  _

 

Keith’s text tone startles him awake a few hours later and he blinks down wearily at the message on his bright screen. Feeling himself frown, he replies. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ What is it  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Sometimes i like to dip my pizza crust in pepsi _

 

Keith stares down at the message for an absurd amount of time. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ I was sleeping, lance.  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ And now you can go back to sleep knowing that i like to dip bread in fizzy sugary beverages  _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Hey, Lance. For your ears only? _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Yes?  _

 

**Keith**

 

_ That’s disgusting.  _

 

_ Like. truly despicable. _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ <3 _

  
  


><><><><><

  
  


Keith’s nightmare this time around is a specific breed of horrific. 

It’s not like any of his other nightmares. The air is crystal clear and none of his senses are muffled. His eyesight is sharp and his nerves are tingling and he is hyper aware of everything. 

He is back in the abandoned building that he and Lance were in earlier, except this time, he is alone. The air is deathly quiet. The darkness picks away at his skin like a swarm of insects. He feels frantic, limbs shivering, looking back and forth like he’s waiting for something to catch him. 

But this fear isn’t pleasant. It’s suffocating. 

Keith figures that this is what fear is supposed to feel like. 

“L-Lance?” He calls out, not expecting an answer. “Anyone?” 

And then he hears it. 

The slow, melodic beeping of the heart rate monitor. 

The flickering and buzzing of fluorescent lights. 

It’s in the distance, but he hears it. It makes him freeze. Goosebumps rise on his skin. “Dad?” He breathes. And then again, louder,  _ “Dad?” _

He breaks into a sprint, running towards the sound. It’s senseless, really, but his instincts take over. He shouts, “Dad!  _ Dad _ !” Over and over and over again. The sound gets closer. He sees a hospital bed, isolated and haunting in a circle of dim orange light. “Dad!” 

He is close enough now to see that there are not one, but two beds; and as he moves even closer still, the bodies take form. 

In one bed, sickly and unmoving and blank-faced, is Shiro. 

In the next bed, Lance. 

Keith wakes up in a cold sweat, throat raw from screaming. 

 

><><><><><

 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line is friendlier than Keith was expecting. “How can I help you today?” 

Keith can feel his words trembling as they come out. “I’d like to...schedule an appointment.” He says nervously. “With anyone who is available.” 

“Of course. May I ask if this is an emergency?” 

Keith is still staring a little blankly at the phone number on the screen in front of him;  _ Bloom Counseling Services: Best in LA! Contact us at 344-675-9008.  _ “Not an emergency.” Keith finally answers. “But sooner will probably be better than later.” 

“Our first available appointment is Friday, at eleven. Coran is the name of the counselor who will be meeting with you. Does that sound good?” 

Keith really wants to back out. No, it doesn’t sound good. Not even a little. 

But…

“Yeah.” 

“Great, I’ll just need some of your info. Are you ready?” 

Keith nods, starting to rattle off personal info like his name, his age, and whether or not he’s gone to therapy before. He starts to falter a little when she asks for a general description of what he needs help with. He’s not sure how to describe it, so he just says that he is in mourning. It’s not extremely accurate, but it seems accurate enough for him. The woman says she is sorry for his loss. He finds himself speechless, like he always used to be when people told him that. 

When he hangs up, he doesn’t really feel better like he thought he would. He feels like he’s made a mistake. He feels heavier, as if admitting to needing help just made his problems real. As if they weren’t real before. 

He takes a deep breath and decides to take a shower and officially wake himself up. 

His phone buzzes. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Wanna get lunch?  _

 

Keith blinks at the message. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ What? You mean in public? _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ I think i found something interesting with those numbers.  _

 

_ Also, i miss my fake boyfriend ;)  _

 

A pause, indicating he’s still typing.

 

_ Aaaalso hunk said a public appearance rn may be a good idea...people have been suspicious about what ive been up to. Ive missed a lot of afterparties lately tbh  _

 

Keith chuckles. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ My brother would freak out if he saw us together… _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ You’re keeping me a secret from your super hot brother? _

 

Keith blinks down at his phone.

 

**Keith**

 

_ Did you stalk me on facebook or something _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ You started it by stalking me on insta _

 

_ And just tell him we met to talk about possible job opportunities for him _

 

_ Pleeaasseeee _

 

**Keith**

 

_ What’s in it for me? _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Uhhh you’ll be graced with my presence?  _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Hmm. fine _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Cool, i kno just the place, gorgeous  _

 

Keith glances at his closet, filled with severely underwhelming clothes. He then catches a glimpse of his reflection in his bedroom mirror. 

Oof. Not great. Nightmares never leave him looking too stellar. The bags under his eyes and matted hair, bunched up with dried sweat, don’t really shout ‘gorgeous’. 

Taking a deep breath and pushing the bad dream out of his mind, he proceeds with his initial plan to take a shower. He did just say yes to a fake date, after all. He tries to tell himself that it’s because he wants more info on what Lance found out about the case--and it is most definitely  _ not _ that he is a pathetic boy with a hopeless crush and nothing else to do with his life. 

Maybe he’ll actually wear nice clothes. 

Who knows where Lance is planning on taking him? 

 

><><><><><

 

Lance looks pretty fucking stunning, which was to be expected. Keith still wasn’t ready for it, though. He’s so used to seeing Lance undercover now; in delivery uniforms and baggy sweats, that he forgot how polished and put-together Lance actually looks on an everyday basis. Keith knows Night-Lance more than he knows Day-Lance--and they really are night and day. Both are just as gorgeous, unfortunately. 

Keith is only really around Lance when his “celebrity” personality is turned off for the day. It’s odd to see him, seated at the luxurious white table cloth with a pressed, salmon button down shirt and gray, shimmery business slacks. The fit is almost sinful, it’s so perfect. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his long fingers dance across the menu as he reads something off to the waiter, who looks dazzled by his presence. He offers a charming smile as he finishes off his order, dimples on full display. Highlighter twinkling. Skin flawless. Freckles covered. The waiter, who is dressed in complete black-tie attire, gives a small bow and a smile back before walking off. 

Keith approaches the table, feeling grossly out of his element. “Uh...hi,” he says awkwardly, heart hammering as their eyes meet. Lance grins broadly. 

“Hey, gorgeous!” He says. And he looks truly happy to see Keith. “Glad you could make it. This is one of my favorite restaurants.” He gestures for Keith to sit down across from him. Keith takes the seat hesitantly. 

“Isn't this...a little excessive?” He asks honestly as he eyes the flickering candle sitting in between them. This setting is way too romantic and Keith is slowly starting to accept how unprepared he is. He looks down at his average outfit and cringes inwardly. “Like...it’s the middle of the day. And it’s dark in here.” 

Lance shrugs. “If you can dine in style, why would you choose not to?” 

It’s horrifying, really, how charmed Keith feels. “I guess so.” 

“I already got us a bottle of wine.” 

“ _ Wine? _ Lance, it’s 1PM.” 

Lance’s face falls. “Oh, wait! You don’t drink. Shoot.” 

“It’s fine.” Keith amends. “You should have some if you want.” He looks around at the restaurant--it’s almost completely empty. “Isn’t this one of the fancy places that only opens for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” Lance is smiling. “But I’m persuasive.” 

“Right.” Keith draws his gaze downwards at the menu. The words are clawing their way up his throat before he can stop them. “You look nice.” He says, feeling heat rise to his face. “You know, in an obnoxious, bougie way.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know you think I’m gorgeous,” Lance teases, but his eyes soften a little. “You’re looking just as dashing as usual.” 

Keith snorts. “Thanks, Lance.” He wonders how many guys Lance says that to. 

Lance leans back in his chair. “The paps know this is my usual spot, so they’ll be around.”

“Your  _ usual _ spot?” Keith asks. “For what?” 

“Dates.” Lance smirks. “I go on a lot of them, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“What can I say? Everyone wants a piece of this.” 

“For sure.” Keith replies sarcastically. “And you bring them all here?” 

Lance nods. “So if the E!News article didn’t seal the deal, this definitely will. People will be all like, ‘Oh,  _ that’s _ where Martinez has been! Fostering a healthy and thriving relationship with his new beau.’” 

“How thrilling.” Keith hides his smile with the menu, surveying the lunch options. He’s not even sure why he’s smiling. What they’re doing feels like a secret. It feels intimate--something between the two of them. He likes it. 

Everything on the menu looks too complicated to pronounce. “What even is all of this?” 

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know. Usually they just bring me something. It’s always good.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Apparently my dad had a favorite dish here, so they assume it’s my favorite too.”

At the mention of his dad, a little bit of the lightheartedness seeps out of the air. It’s like a reminder, at least to Keith, of what their actual situation is. A reminder that this isn’t actually a date with Lance Martinez...as much as it feels like one. 

It seems like Lance is on the same wavelength, because he leans over the table and speaks in a more hushed tone. “So...those numbers. I found correspondences. In the wallet.” 

Keith shakes his head. “What? What do you mean?” 

“The papers, with the photos of the celebrities on them. In the corner where the page number usually goes, there are a bunch of random, five-digit numbers. I think each one represents a death.” Lance glances around, looking self conscious. “And whatever happened in that building was like...recording them. Or keeping track or something. Like it was a meeting place for the killers to...deliberate.” 

Keith blinks at him. “That’s…” 

“Fucked up?” 

“Yeah. And I don’t see how it has anything to do with the car thief circuit.” 

Lance nods, leaning back slowly, as if remembering where they are. He sees the waiter across the room, preparing the bottle of wine, and seemingly decides it’s time to change the subject.

“Right. Well, let’s not talk about that here! That’s not sexy date material.” The waiter comes back out with a basket of warm bread and wine. Keith’s stomach rumbles. 

“So what do you usually do on these dates, then?” He asks, reaching for the bread hungirly. Lance watches his hand as it tears off a huge chunk of the bread. 

“I don’t know. Flirty banter, small talk, I don’t really indulge in it too much. Also, I never eat the bread. Carbs, man.” 

“Sounds fulfilling.” 

“Well, what do you do on  _ your _ dates?” 

Keith shrugs, mouth full of bread. “Hook up.” 

“Just like that?” 

“Sometimes we order a pizza.” 

Lance giggles. “What a man.” 

Keith chuckles as well, tossing a small piece of bread at Lance’s face. “Shut up. I’ve had serious relationships before.” 

“Oh yeah?” Lance sounds skeptical. 

“ _ Yes _ I have.” 

“Well, this is going to be the best one you’ve ever been in.” 

Keith laughs. “That’s a pretty bold statement,” He says, surprised to hear that his voice isn’t wavering. He definitely feels much more nervous than he sounds. He hopes that the heat in his face isn’t giving him away. “Sounds like you’re getting cocky.” 

“Of course I am.  _ Look _ at this place! You’re being treated like a king.” He leans over on his elbows, blinking teasingly at Keith. His eyes look deliciously blue. “Being my fake boyfriend has its perks, Kogane.” 

“I will never, ever admit that out loud.” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “Come  _ on _ , gorgeous.” He drawls dramatically. He has a teasing, irresistible expression on his face that Keith realizes is very familiar to him, even with the powder and the highlighter and the lip balm. It’s an expression that Keith from six months ago probably would’ve  _ despised _ . But looking at it now, he can’t even fathom how that could’ve been possible. Lance continues, “What must I do to prove myself?”

Keith smirks, eyeing the bread basket, and then returning his gaze to Lance’s face. “Eat the bread.” 

“You are cruel.” Lance mumbles through a grin. “But how on earth could I say no?” 

 

><><><<><><

  
The paparazzi arrive during dessert. Lance doesn’t seem at all fazed by it. He sits up slightly when he hears the faint sounds of cameras clicking and then returns to his normal position, as if everything is fine. They polish off their plates and Lance doesn’t even bother getting the bill, because apparently he basically rented out the entire restaurant for the meal. Keith can’t even pretend not to be impressed. 

The sounds of reporters and paparazzi outside the front door is enough to make Keith nervous. He’s already established that he’s not the type to be the center of attention, and he feels his nerves shaking as they approach the front door. 

He thinks about the cold, hollow boy he met on the rooftop when he spoke with Lance for the first time. It must be so exhausting, facing these nerves all the time. There had to be some way to numb them. The longer he knows Lance, the more Lance makes sense to him. 

Lance’s fingers intertwine with his, pressing their palms together. Keith’s heart hiccups at the unexpected gesture. “Don’t be nervous,” Lance says quietly, leaning in to Keith’s shoulder with his own. “They have to do this. For their job. They don’t  _ actually _ care.” A pause. “Also, I have a body guard out there who will keep them ten feet away.” He smiles playfully. “See? Perks.” 

Keith nods slowly, tightening his grip. 

They walk through the front doors together, and the camera flashes instantaneously fill Keith's vision. People are shouting. He can’t make out what the noises are at first, but after a few seconds he realizes they are questions. He sees flashes of faces behind cameras. He doesn’t understand why they have to sound so angry. So urgent. There is nothing pressing going on right now. Lance’s hand leads him towards the sidewalk, a bit further away from the mob in the middle of the street. He smiles and waves at them in a cold, empty way that Keith recognizes from some of the first interactions he had with Lance. Keith sees the bodyguard, a large man in all black attire, along with two smaller people in the same uniform, containing the crowd with stern arms and physical blocking. Keith turns towards Lance, subconsciously leaning in closer and they walked. 

“Jesus.” He mumbles. 

“This is nothing.” Lance says. “Don’t worry, soon, you’ll be a pro.” 

“I don’t want to be.” 

“Good call.” 

Lance and Keith round the corner, but the sound of paparazzi still isn’t very far away. Keith tries to turn his head and find them, but he’s interrupted by Lance’s arms, circling around his wait. Suddenly, he’s being pulled in. Each area of his body finds Lance’s--first, their thighs press together, then their stomachs. Their chests brush. Lance’s fingers play a slow, soft rhythm on Keith’s lower back, pressing him closer. 

Lance gazes down at him. Keith stares up with wide eyes, boiling heat about to bubble over as he stands, unable to move. “Wha--?” He croaks. Lance interrupts him. 

“For your ears only...” He mumbles, voice a low rumble that shakes Keith’s chest. “You’re a very fun date.” 

Keith opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He shuts it, and lets his hands fall to Lance’s waist. He waits for the shiver to ride it’s way out of his body before trying again. “Oh yeah?” He counters, allowing his hands to travel upwards slightly. Because he can’t help it. Because he doesn’t want to help it. “How so?” 

“Well, you’re  _ almost _ as witty and clever as I am...” Lance leans over, lips brushing against Keith’s ear. Keith can hear his grin.“So it’s fun to argue with you.” 

Keith is having trouble processing what is happening, senses beginning to cloud at the touch. The sound of the paparazzi is muffled now. Far away. But it’s not the bad kind of muffled. It’s...peaceful. “I’ll always win, though.” He teases, voice rougher than it probably should be. “The arguments.”

Lance hands slide up his back. Then back down. “Maybe.” He respond quietly, smirking into the skin below Keith’s ear. 

Without warning, he presses a kiss there. It’s soft, and tender, but somehow says something much dirtier. Keith feels like his knees would buckle if he let them. The heat that is rising to the surface--the tips of his ears, the sweat on his hairline, the pit of his chest--feels dangerously close to spilling over. Keith lets his eyes flutter shut. “Or maybe not…” He breathes, not really thinking. 

“Mmhm.” Lance presses another short kiss closer to Keith’s jaw, which makes him tilt his head back, just a little. Just enough to let--

“Do you think they got it?” Lance asks into his neck, voice returning to it’s normal pitch.

“Huh?” Keith says, oblivious. 

“The  _ paps _ . Do you think they got the shot?”    
Keith takes an urgent step back, like being hit with a train of reality. All of the surrounding sounds rush back to his ears; the paps yelling, the cameras flashing, the car engines and the squeaky breaks and the city streets and--

Lance is smirking at him. 

“That was  _ unnecessary _ .” Keith spits, feeling way too defensive. “Couldn’t you have just kissed my cheek or something?” 

“I’m  _ promiscuous _ , gorgeous. Haven't you heard? I don’t hide around the corner just to  _ kiss cheeks.” _ He giggles, looking way too proud of himself. “And now I know how to get you all hot and bothered.” 

“I’m  _ not _ hot and bothered.” 

“Sure. Of  _ course _ not.” Lance deadpans. “You’re just blushing because it’s  _ so _ hot out here.” 

“M’not blushing.” Keith almost growls it. “They probably got their shot, alright? Can we go now?” He snaps. 

Lance hasn’t stopped giggling. “Alright,  _ alright _ , lead the way, gorgeous.” 

Keith spins on his heel and marches away, the sting of embarrassment just making him more frustrated. It’s not that he actually expected anything to happen with Lance...But in the moment, there was no way he was going to think logically, okay? 

The skin below his ear still feels like it’s on fire, tingling and burning and making him want more. Lance is trailing behind him, still laughing hysterically, and Keith, for a moment, finds it hard to believe that boy has never had sex. Because that little spectacle could’ve convinced him otherwise. There just something so inherently seductive about how Lance is, and he  _ knows _ it. It’s driving Keith crazy. He refuses to turn around and, instead, tries to get his heart rate under control. 

_ Being my fake boyfriend has its perks, Kogane.  _

Remembering the feeling of Lance’s lips on his neck, Keith can’t help but agree.

 

><><><><><

 

“Hello. Keith Kogane?” 

Keith pulls at his shirt nervously when he walks in. The entire room smells like eucalyptus and a high school nurse's office combined. He can feel the nervousness making his breath shallow as he nods, giving the woman at the desk his information. 

Therapy is a pretty terrifying word. People like to glaze over it and call it different things, but in Keith’s mind, it’s not something that can mean anything other than what it means; he needs help. He can’t do it on his own. He failed. 

He wonders what his father would think if he saw him here. This isn’t what his dad wanted for him. He was supposed to be strong. To get over this and grow and mature like other people do. But instead, he’s still having nightmares and he still craves pain and he still feels like he’s five seconds away from fading to nothingness, every time he takes a breath. 

Losing his father was unbearable enough without the craziness of the aftermath that his brain created from nothing. 

He takes a seat in the waiting area and clasps his shaking hands together. He looks down at them and sees the scars. The scars on his knuckles from broken glass. Burns on his fingertips from stovetops and scrapes on his palms from trying to catch his falls. The skin there is physically worn down from all of the falling. All of the catching. 

His father thought he was a lion. A strong, courageous, loving lion. 

How can he be strong and courageous when he’s shaking at the thought of talking to someone? 

How can he be loving when he spends so much time scrambling to feel anything at all? 

“Kogane?” 

Keith looks up at the woman who calls his name. “Coran can see you now.” She gives him a kind smile. “It’ll be the fourth door on the left, okay?” 

Keith nods, swallowing down his urge to run as he gets up and makes his way down the hall. He turns the door handle slowly, as if this will help him stall. 

As the room comes in to view, it doesn’t look like Keith imagined it would. He doesn’t really know why he was expecting something medical--it just looked like a room. A room in a home. He breathes a sigh in relief when he sees the large, navy blue couch and the small zen garden sitting atop the worn, mahogany coffee table. 

“You must be Keith!” A voice startles him from across the tiny room. It is heavily accented--sounds Australian. Keith sees the man sitting at a desk on the far wall, grinning brightly at him. He has bright, orange hair with a handlebar mustache to match. Keith feels caught off guard--this man’s sunny demeanor and unique look was not something he was expecting from a therapist. 

“Uh…” Keith looks around the room awkwardly. “Hello.” 

“Sit down! Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m Coran, by the way. It’s so very nice to meet you.” 

Keith nods slowly, lowering himself onto the large couch across from Coran’s desk. “I...didn’t do anything to prepare for this.” He says shyly. 

“Nothing to prepare, boy!” Coran is a lot more chipper than Keith is used to. Keith always used to think Shiro was chipper--but in comparison to this guy? Not very. “I take it this is your first time talking to someone, then?” If anyone else had said it, it would’ve sounded condescending. But Coran just makes it sound caring. Happy. 

Keith shrugs, sitting stiffly on the couch. “I guess.” 

“Alright, Keith.” Coran looks down at some of the papers on his desk. “So, I’ve read some of the general things you mentioned when you called, but I want to hear it from you.” He looks back up at Keith, face a little bit more serious. “What made you decide to reach out?” 

Keith blinks at him. He feels like he’s being quizzed. Is there a right answer? What even  _ is _ his answer? Coran’s eyes are patient. They look understanding. But Keith still feels odd talking to a perfect stranger about his life. He wonders if this is how Lance feels when people grill him about his personal life--like he didn’t run fast enough. 

He still hasn’t said anything. He waits for Coran to speak up and save him from answering for himself, but Coran remains silent. 

Keith takes a deep breath. He sees Shiro’s face, defeated and concerned at the sight of Keith’s scars. An expression that is so familiar to Keith now, because of how many times he’s screwed up. He hears Lance’s voice, hurt and betrayed as it echoes through the walls of the abandoned building. 

“I…” He starts. Coran gives him an encouraging nod. “I...couldn’t give less of a fuck about myself, honestly.” He mumbles. Coran doesn’t look put off at all by his language. “But I’m realizing more and more that the way I am...is hurting people I care about?” 

Coran nods. 

Keith swallows. 

“And I don’t want to accept that anymore.” 

Coran smiles at him, and Keith fills with relief. The words are out there, even if they don’t leave the walls of this tiny room. Saying them out loud felt better than he expected. His muscles begin to loosen, ever so slightly. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Keith.” Coran says genuinely. “And if you’re willing to work with me,  I’m hoping we can help you ‘give a fuck’ about  _ yourself _ , too.” 

 

><><><><><

 

Keith thinks about calling his mom when he leaves Coran’s office. 

He still can’t bring himself to dial her number. 

 

><><><><><

 

The number in the red bubble next to his Facebook app tells him that he has 1,087 notifications. As soon as these crazy people find out where Keith lives, it’s over for him. He’s officially Lance’s new boyfriend. At least, he thinks so. He hasn’t let himself check any media at all because he’s afraid that seeing the picture of Lance’s face in his neck won’t really do much to help the whole “hopeless pining” situation. As the king of avoiding all important and meaningful things in his life, Keith decides to turn his phone off and stash it under his pillow instead of actually facing his reality. That way, if Shiro stumbles across those pictures and wants to call Keith freaking out about it, it won’t matter. Because his phone will be off. 

That is, of course, until there is a very angry knock on his door about an hour later. He is falling asleep on the couch when the loud, sharp sound startles him awake. He glances at the door, terrified for a moment, until he hears Lance’s voice, yell-whispering. 

“Kogane, I  _ know _ you’re in there! Answer your goddamn phone!” 

Keith waddles sleepily to the door. He checks the time as he’s getting up. 2:37AM. He sighs tiredly, yanking the door open. “What.” He grunts. Lance, as usual, storms in right past him. 

“Are you insane? Where is your phone? Hunk, Pidge, and I have all been trying to contact you.” 

“Sorry.” Keith offers. “I was trying to stay away from the...notifications.” 

Lance sighs. “Okay, fine. I understand.” He amends. “But we really want to meet tonight and go over what I found. Probably at Hayden’s. Are you up for it?” 

Keith give’s Lance a not-so-subtle onceover. He is undercover; in blue jeans and a maroon hoodie that says “Richard’s BBQ and Wings”. The visor on his head is a little lopsided. His hair sticks out of it in crazy, silly tufts. His freckles decorate his cheeks again, free from makeup. 

How could Keith possibly say no to this boy? 

“Sure, of course.” He says. Lance smiles. 

“Sweet. I was getting worried that I would have to spend an  _ entire night _ without seeing you.” He’s being sarcastic, grinning teasingly. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“What a catastrophe that would be.” Keith deadpans, turning away to hide his blush as he walks towards his room. “I’m just going to get changed.” 

“Hurry up, gorgeous.” Lance flops down on his couch. “You know how antsy Hunk and Pidge can get.” 

 

><><><><><

 

“Well  _ finally _ you decide to show up!” Hunk scolds as Lance makes his grand entrance into the foyer at Hayden’s mansion. Keith follows close behind, still feeling incredibly sleepy from earlier. Hunk and Pidge look like they have already made themselves comfortable at the kitchen table; laptops open and notebook pages covering the surface. 

“Keith, you’re gonna want to see this.” Pidge says, pulling out a seat for Keith to sit next to her. In true Pidge fashion, she is dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie that are nearly swallowing her up. It’s her favorite studying outfit, and has remained that way, apparently, since high school. 

“Lance filled me in a little today already.” Keith adds, sitting down. “About the numbers on the wall.” 

Lance moves some papers around on the table, uncovering the wallet underneath some of the mess. He starts taking out the papers and unfolding them, one by one. 

Hunk nods. “Well, Pidge and I took the liberty of writing down some of the visible numbers on the wall. And get this--Lance was right. They match up perfectly to the numbers on at least four of the pages with the victims.” 

Keith puts his face in his hands, exhausted and confused at the same time. “Jeez.” He says, unable to come up with a better response. 

“Which answers a lot of questions for us…” Pidge continues. “It confirms that whatever this is, it happened within the car theft circuit. Anton’s number...is written on the wall.” She clears her throat a little awkwardly, looking at Lance. “So, if he was a member, then it’s safe to assume, for the time being, that all these other celebrities were members too. We’re still working on hacking the database to confirm the members. And we think these codes may actually have something to do with getting more information. Right now we’re scanning nearby databases and looking for repeats in code.” 

“Okay, wait.” Lance frowns. “So, Hayden assigned codes to these people.  _ Then _ killed all these people. Then wrote their codes on a wall in a sketchy building?” 

Pidge nods. “Lance, I need you to think. Do you know anything about these celebrities? About Hayden? Is there something they have in common?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m telling you, Hayden and my dad both weren’t really around much. And those celebrities were all decently famous when they died. They weren’t like...going through slumps in their popularity or fading or anything.” 

“I don’t get it.” Hunk says, frustrated. “What would be the reason for someone keeping track of all these horrible things? Was he like, keeping score or something?”

“Can’t be. Then he wouldn’t be gone too, right?” 

Keith clears his throat, a little louder than expected. Everyone turns around to look at him. He stares back for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous. It’s  _ crazy _ , and he knows he shouldn’t say it, but…

“Lance first contacted me because...his dad had some of the same issues that I do.” He says. Hunk raises an eyebrow at him. Lance shakes his head.

“Keith, you don’t have to--” 

“And since I  _ was _ a member, I can tell you from experience...there were a lot of celebrities in the circuit. It is an escape for them. From the pressures of fame, and all that.”

“What are you saying?” Pidge asks. 

Keith looks at Lance, but then looks away quickly. “Lance told me that nobody would be able to get into his father’s head like I could. And...I mean, I’m just  _ saying _ ...If I wanted to get away from fame and pressure to conform and stuff, I’d do pretty insane things.” He looks down at his feet. “I’ve  _ done _ pretty insane things. And if your dad is anything like me, then…” He shrugs. 

They all stare at him, but Lance’s gaze bores into him the most. 

“What are you  _ saying _ ?” Lance repeats.

Keith sighs. “I’m saying that addiction makes people do stupid things. Like...run away.” 

“You’re saying my dad  _ faked his own death _ ?” 

“It’s a theory.” Keith argues, feeling himself get defensive. “I’m not insinuating--” 

“That he just left and didn’t even tell  _ anyone _ he was running away? Not even his own  _ son _ ?”

“Lance--” Hunk tries, but Lance is approaching Keith now, emotion flooding his eyes. 

“H-he wouldn’t leave like that!” Lance is scowling now. “He was a  _ shit _ father but he wasn’t--how could you even  _ say _ that?” 

“Lance, calm down.” Hunk says, voice gentle. Keith can tell that Hunk has experience dealing with Lance when he gets angry. “Keith’s theory is insane, but...it’s a theory. And we  _ do _ have to think about--” 

“No.” Lance shakes his head, eyes piercing into Keith’s. “No, Keith. You’re not allowed to project your own fucked up feelings onto this. Just because  _ your _ dad is dead doesn’t mean you have to shit all over mine.” 

The room falls silent. 

Pidge and Hunk stand still, blinking with wide eyes. 

The pain is sharp and acute when it pricks Keith’s chest. 

His heartbeat roars in his ears.

“Fuck you, Lance.” He mumbles it from somewhere far away. The heartbeat in his ears turns to buzzing. To muffled beeping. To numbness.  His feet are carrying him but he can’t feel it. He’s just moving, and moving, and moving. 

_Your dad is dead. Your dad is dead._ _Your dad is dead, Keith._ It plays like an off-tune song in a horror movie. It haunts him. 

And then he is outside. The ocean in front of him. Cold water splashes against his ankles, awakening pinpricks of nerves in his legs. The sensation spreads. The numbness dissipates, little by little. He feels the cold night air filling his lungs. 

In, and out. 

In, and out. 

He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he regains feeling in them. They tremble uncontrollably and he clenches his fists, trying to quiet them. The winds whips his hair against his face--his forehead and cheeks burn at the sensation. He closes his eyes and lets himself shiver, feeling the cold beach wind enveloping him. 

Today, Coran told him that someday, all of this will be easier. 

Keith wants, so badly, to believe him. 

“Keith.” 

The voice comes from close behind him. Keith frowns, turning around slightly. Lance stands across from him, eyes round and glassy. The wind has his hair flying wildly around his narrow face. His freckles look blurry in the darkness. 

“What the  _ fuck _ , Lance?” Keith snaps, turning fully towards Lance. “I didn’t ask you to follow me out here.” 

Lance just stares down at him sadly. His eyebrows drawn together. Lower lip quivering. He shakes his head, slowly at first, but then faster as his eyes fall shut, brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry, Keith.” He whispers, sounding broken. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You can’t keep doing this to me.” Keith replies. “You told me to get in your father’s head. I’m just being  _ honest _ .”

“I know...” Lance nods, still not making eye contact. “I know.” 

“And it’s a viable theory too.” A lump forms in Keith’s throat and he can’t even explain why. It’s been ages since he’s cried. He tries to swallow it down, but gets increasingly frustrated. “It could actually  _ lead us _ somewhere. It could be the one damn thing that all those celebrities have in common, okay? I didn’t say it to  _ insult _ you!” 

“I know.”

“I get it, it’s a sensitive topic for you. But bringing up  _ my _ dad? That’s cruel!” 

“I  _ know _ .” 

“A-and you don’t even  _ know _ what it’s like to have a dead dad! You’ve just been  _ looking _ for yours this whole time!”

“Keith--”

“But I’ve had to live the last six years  _ knowing _ that my dad  _ is _ dead!” His voice cracks. “And there is no chance that he’s ‘out there somewhere’, drinking a fucking margarita on a remote island, o-or--” He shuts his mouth because suddenly no sound can come out. If he opens his mouth again, he will crumble. He knows it. He can feel it, in his bones; like he’s being held together by masking tape, one blow from falling apart. 

“I know.” Lance whispers. 

Keith wraps his arms around himself. Tries to hold himself together. It’s like he’s trying to tell years of cracks to just mend themselves. Just for one more night. Just until he gets home. Because the truth is that he isn’t really mad at Lance anymore. He’s irritated, but he knows Lance by now. He knows that this is just something Lance needs to work on. Just like Keith is trying to work on himself, too. But the feeling that is clutching his heart and making him feel like he’s suffocating--it’s deeper than what Lance said. It’s deeper than all of the windows he’s punched in, all of the cars he’s stolen, all of the scars on his body and the keychain in his pocket. And he tries, he  _ really _ does, to push it down. But it feels worthless. It’s futile, and he knows it. His dad would just tell him to cry. To let himself be sad. 

To let himself feel better. 

Lance’s hand presses into his cheek. Keith doesn’t realize there is wetness under his eyes until Lance’s thumb sweeps in away. 

“Lance…” Keith croaks, voice trembling. He feels his face pinch together--a last ditch attempt to repress the sadness. But it looms over him like mountain, crumbling into an avalanche. “Lance...for your ears only…” He looks up at Lance’s eyes, glistening with new tears. The sob escapes his chest as the words do. “I miss my dad.” A sniff.  _ “So much.”  _

And then Lance is wrapping him up in his arms, and Keith is crumbling. Crying. The tears sting as they sear their way down his cheeks. He feels them wetting Lance’s hoodie. He feels them dripping down his cheeks and off of his chin. It’s raw, and painful, and shakes his chest like an earthquake. His brain feels like it’s releasing hundreds of pounds of pressure at once, and it’s overwhelming and relieving at the same time. 

He’s not sure how long they stand there. He’s not sure when Lance started running his hands up and down Keith’s back, in a soothing pattern that shouldn’t be as comforting as it is. The sound of the waves, after a while, just turned into hazy background music as Keith let himself get lost in what he was feeling. The warmth of Lance wrapped around him. The stickiness of tears drying on his cheeks. The heat where is breath is being absorbed by Lance’s hoodie. He lets his eyes flutter shut, after he feels that there can’t  _ possibly _ be tears left, and Lance continues to hold him. He continues to rub Keith back. He hugs tighter when Keith relaxes against him, breathing softly into his neck.

Of all the crazy things Keith has ever done to escape the numbness, this, by far, is the most painful. 

But eventually his heart rate starts to slow again, and there is a sudden lightness in his chest. His muscles relax, just like they do after a fix. He seems cracked open and reformed...but not exactly in a bad way. 

It makes him think, for the first time since his dad died, that maybe balancing on the edge of a building isn’t the only way to reclaim feeling. 

That maybe  _ these _ are the feelings he should be chasing, instead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. Mustang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is still working on himself in more ways than one. Fragments of the ugly truth start fitting together slightly. Lance is soft and pretty and sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! wow, im still alive. imagine that. im SO SORRY these updates are taking ages. 
> 
> Some disclaimers about this chapter:  
> 1) i know nothing about puerto rico-- i will do research of course! but im sorry if my geography doesnt make sense or something :/   
> 2) Do I have to re-iterate that I have no idea what I'm doing? because I dont   
> 3) i love you guys so so much, thanks for all of your support <3 
> 
> i apologize for the slow burn 
> 
> Im just going to post this because I cant think of how to make it better anymore djwiovfhiepfhwe pls enjoy if you can <3

“That’s not right,” Keith argues, irritation twisting his mouth into a frown. “There’s no way that makes any sense.”  

Coran is looking at Keith with a steady gaze--his expression isn’t saying very much. “If you think about it, it does,” He replies calmly. “It may just take time for you to understand.” 

“You’re saying that I’m like this because I repressed my feelings.” 

Coran nods. “It’s a possibility.” 

Seeing Coran once a week has been...an experience. Keith isn’t very good at talking about his feelings, so therapy hasn’t exactly been stellar so far. He tends to get frustrated when Coran tries to tell him anything about how he is. He feels like it’s not Coran’s decision to make. Deep down, he knows that’s literally what Coran is here for, but it’s much harder than he thought it would be to admit. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Keith is frustrated now. “I don’t  _ repress _ my feelings. My problem is the  _ opposite _ of that. I do dangerous shit because I want to feel my feelings. I’m  _ impulsive _ . That’s why I’m here.” 

“Being impulsive is a coping mechanism.” 

“ _ Exactly _ .”

“But that doesn't mean it is allowing you to cope. They offer more of a distraction. Don’t you find that you can’t really think about what is making you upset when you are sitting on the edge of a building?” 

“Well, no. But I think about it beforehand. Like...when I was walking to the edge of the building, I was…” 

“Thinking about your father?” 

“Yeah.” 

“But you don’t want to think about him.” It sounds like a question and a fact. 

Keith shakes his head hesitantly. “I…”   

Coran leans forward on his elbows, looking sympathetic. “Keith...You went through something extremely painful. Situations like these...they leave wounds. If you don’t give those wounds time to heal, the pain manifests itself in other ways.” 

“I did give it time to heal,” Keith argues, clenching his fists. “It’s been  _ years _ . This is ridiculous.” 

Coran frowns. “It’s not ridiculous, Keith.” He sounds comforting. “And I get that it has been hard--but over the past few years, how much pain have you allowed yourself to feel?” A pause. “How much pain have you actually  _ felt _ , before you distracted yourself with something else?” 

Keith reluctantly remembers Chase. He remembers all of the one night stands before Chase. After Chase. It all happened right after his father’s death. He started acting out right after his father’s death. He can hear Shiro’s voice in his head, sullen and defeated only a week after the funeral.  _ “Did you seriously go out last night? After everything that has happened? It’s only been one goddamn week, Keith.”  _

Keith takes a deep breath, wringing his hands together. Suddenly, the twenty minutes he spent crying into Lance’s chest a couple weeks ago makes a bit more sense. “I honestly think it’s been a long time.” Keith finally admits. “But...I might be getting better at it.” 

 

><><><><><

 

**Keith**

 

_ Do you think I repress my emotions? _

 

Keith quickly types out the text as he’s leaving Coran’s office. He feels a little lighter, somehow. It’s only been a couple of weeks and he, strangely enough, is already noticing small differences in how he feels. It’s like a weight off of his chest. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Oh yes. 100% _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Really?  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ The tears on my sweater still haven't dried and it’s been two weeks  _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Very funny  _

 

Keith chuckles a little to himself. It actually is kind of funny. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ I miss you a bit, gorgeous.  _

 

And the blushing begins. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ It’s your fault you’ve been so busy _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ And how would you know what I’ve been up to?  _

 

_ Have you been stalking my Instagram again  _

 

Keith’s palms are sweating and he tries not to think about why. He grimaces and wipes one of them on his black jeans, feeling a little self-conscious despite being alone. He hurriedly arrives at his apartment, shutting the door behind him and shuffling into the kitchen to make some form of lunch. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ You wish  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Alright then, Kogane. Wanna meet up?  _

 

Keith hesitates.

 

**Keith**

 

_ It’s the middle of the day though.. Or did you find out something new about your dad's case?  _

 

He’s not sure why he asks it. It feels stale—a little wrong. He knows that it’s possible for them to just hang out without needing a reason, but the thought of it makes him antsy. Maybe it’s because he’s suddenly realizing that the fluttering in his chest is becoming too much to bear at times like this when he’s doing something as casual as  _ texting _ Lance Martinez. 

Lance doesn’t answer immediately and Keith paces back and forth in his kitchen, nervous. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought that up. They hadn’t talked about the case since the last time they met up, weeks ago. Was he wrong to ask about it? Maybe Lance really did just want to hang out. 

Lance finally answers after seven and a half anxious minutes. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ No, nothing new  _

 

A pause, as he types. 

 

_ I guess you’re right, it's not night time yet. _

 

Keith blinks down at the text. Is Lance upset? It sounds like he might be. Keith feels a pang of something he can’t quite place. What he really wants to say is;  _ please come over. You don’t have to have a reason. You never have to have a reason. Just be here. _

 

**Keith**

 

_ Yeah, let’s meet up.  _

 

His thumb givers over the ‘send button’ for a brief moment before he clicks. 

 

_ Want to come over?  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ I thought you’d never ask  _

 

Keith tosses his phone onto the counter and conveniently hides it with a jar of expired almond butter, feeling jittery. He worries that if he continues holding it in his hands, he’ll accidentally type out something embarrassing like ‘ _ hey lance I really miss the smell of your shampoo’ _ , and he’s not in the mood to deal with an outburst like that. Instead, he decides to take a shower. One short look in the mirror has him noticing that the scrapes on his cheek are basically fully healed, just pink and shiny reformed skin where the angry breaks used to be. He feels himself smiling a little. He knows that he hasn’t changed. He’s not a new person, and his brain is still just as damaged as ever. Physically, though, those scrapes are pretty old now; and there hasn’t been anything new lately. His skin has remained relatively unbroken.

In the shower, he thinks about what Coran said today. He considers the fact that all of the physical pain he has endured over the years could’ve very much been a distraction of his own doing. Some sort of self-destructive way to deal with grief. He’s decided that he genuinely hates that part of himself, especially as he scrubs over the scars and scrapes that litter his body. For most of them, he honestly doesn’t even remember why they are there. It’s like his body tells a story that he’s never heard before, and never taken the time to learn. These marks just exist on him, reminding him of bad times. They stand out enormously, and he can’t help but feel a little bit of frustration as he watches the water run over them. 

Lance’s skin is smooth and flawless. It looks soft and inviting. It smells sweet and salty. When Keith was really little, his dad would always take him to the pier at the end of the summer—not Shiro, just him. They would stop by a small vendor that made the most delicious salted caramel candies, and Keith would always eat them until he felt sick. He loved them so much, the upset stomach was worth it. His dad would scold him, every single time, “ _ Now don’t go getting sick again tonight, alright? They’re not gonna run away. You can have the rest tomorrow.”  _ But Keith never listened. 

He just loved those salted caramel candies.

It’s only an unexpected coincidence that they now remind him of Lance. 

He wonders if Lance, all smooth caramel skin and flawless white teeth, could ever fall for someone as imperfect as him; rough edges, bumpy scars, thick matted hair, and cold, clammy palms.

He pushes the thought away as quickly as it came, stepping out of the shower and grabbing his towel. He dried his hair, letting it fall into his face, spiky and wet. He patted his skin dry and moved into his room, throwing on his softest black T-shirt and dark red joggers. Lance has seen him at his worst, at this point. Keith hopelessly thinks that he’s well beyond the stage where physical attractiveness actually matters. He’s helping the guy find his dead father, not going on a tinder date with him. 

When Lance shows up, he looks shockingly normal. He’s not dressed in a pizza delivery costume or a Gucci tuxedo. He’s not wearing any makeup, but his hair has been tidied up slightly, sticking up a little awkwardly towards the top like he’s been running his hand through it. He is wearing simple dark blue jeans and a teal shirt that says “HERE TO PARTY” in big white block letters. It looks like worn cotton, soft to the touch. His freckles are a delicious golden brown and his eyes look bluer than ever as they meet Keith’s, smiling somehow without any other part of his face moving. 

Keith’s heart could literally jump out of his throat. 

“You’re not undercover.” He blurts, a little obnoxiously, before even letting Lance in the doorway. Why on earth did he shout that so loud? 

Lance laughs, putting a hand to Keith’s chest as he pushes past him, into his living room. “Not today.” He says, grinning. “Now that you’re officially my ‘boyfriend’ I can come here whenever I like without people being obnoxious about it.” He sends a cheeky grin in Keith’s direction. “Lucky me.” 

Keith feels dumb. “But won’t people follow you here?” He asks incredulously. “Won’t they try to come inside?”

Lance shrugs, flopping down onto the couch. “Yeah, But that’ll happen everywhere. Honestly, it was bound to happen here eventually, people aren’t as stupid as they sometimes seem.” A pause. “And I’ve got bodyguards down there and stuff so don’t worry about people coming up here.” 

Keith studies Lance’s relaxed frame, slumped over his couch cushions like he belongs there. It takes him a moment to realize that his apartment is beautiful, for sure— but hardly lived-in. He has lived in this space for almost two and a half years now, and Lance was his first actual guest. Shiro has been over a couple times, but only briefly and only to check up on Keith. But now Lance is sitting here, making an impression on his sofa. Creating proof that humans once inhabited this space. Proof that Keith had...such pleasant company. 

“I was about to make lunch,” Keith says, not sure why he’s feeling so awkward today. It’s almost like his sessions with Coran are revealing to him just how blatantly uncool he is. “Did you want something to eat?” 

Lance looks up at him and arches one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows, giggling endearingly. “Sure, gorgeous.” He says. “What’ll it be?” 

Keith glances backward at his kitchen. “Uh.” He blushes. Feeling embarrassed. “Well, it was probably going to be ramen, honestly.” 

Both of Lance’s eyebrows are raised now. “Oh?” 

Keith nods. “But we can order something too, I didn’t-“ 

“Ramen sounds great.” Lance interrupts warmly, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

He trails gracefully into the kitchen and Keith stumbles clumsily behind him. Lance smells sweeter than usual today. The sweetness lacks its usual bite, like the salty, clean, sharp notes it usually has. Today, he’s just sweet. He’s so sweet, and Keith’s fingertips are sweating. 

Lance chuckles as he takes two packets of cheap ramen outside of Keith’s desolate pantry. The plastic wrapping crinkles loudly. “What the hell is this?” He asks, and he sounds genuinely confused. 

“Ramen?” Keith replies bluntly. 

Lance holds up the packet closer to Keith’s face. “No,  _ this _ .” He clarifies, smiling as if Keith was telling a joke. 

“That’s the ramen, Lance.” 

“Like, the toppings?” 

“No. The literal ramen.” 

Lance blinks at him, and then at the packet, looking utterly lost. “What?” 

“You’ve never had ramen before?” 

“No, I have. It’s just—I mean, it’s usually like, in a bowl. With broth, and pork belly and egg.” 

Keith’s face twists into something he hopes isn’t too unpleasant. Right. Lance was born rich. He’s probably never even been in a store that sells packaged ramen. “You mean...you’ve never had instant ramen before?” 

Lance looks baffled. “Instant?” 

Keith grabs the packets from Lance’s hands. “Alright, that needs to change. We’re making this right now.” 

“How?” 

Keith turns to Lance, smiling. “It’s a pretty intricate process,” He jokes. “But try to follow along.” 

As he takes out the one, single pot that he owns, Lance stands close by. He’s so close that Keith can feel a soft warmness wafting off of him. Maybe Lance just took a hot shower before coming here. Maybe his skin is scrubbed soft, just like Keith’s. 

He places the pot on the stove after filling it with water and turns the stove on. They both stand there for a moment, looking at the still water below. 

“What now?” Lance asks, sounding far too innocent. 

“We wait for it to boil,” Keith says. “Just like regular pasta. And then—this is the hard part so listen closely—we put that stuff,” He points to the packages, “-in this pot.” 

Lance blinks at him, and then his lips slowly quirk upwards. “Seriously?” 

Keith is smiling now, too. “Seriously.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

“And it tastes good?” 

Keith shrugs. “It’s...adequate.” 

“Do you eat this a lot?” 

Keith glances around his empty kitchen. Is there any way he’d be able to convince Lance otherwise, given the blatant proof? “You could say that.” 

Lance sighs happily, glancing around the room as well. The response seems to satisfy him. He’s acting odd today, Keith realizes. A little less abrasive than usual. Softer, more docile. He wonders why. A part of him thinks that the longer he knows Lance, the more layers he discovers. A small, pleasant feeling, like candlelight, springs to life in his chest. Maybe this is what Lance is like to the people he’s closest to. This soft, happy, curious boy. Maybe this is just another layer for Keith to—

“Beef?” Lance says questioningly, staring down at the ramen packet. He pokes it. “How is there beef in this?” 

Keith giggles, cringing inwardly at how lovesick he sounds. “Clearly you’ve got a lot to learn.” 

 

><><><><><

  
  


Once the ramen is done, Keith separates it into two bowls and they move to the living room. It is strange that neither one of them has brought up anything at all about the case, considering it’s been a couple weeks and no progress has been made. But Lance seems like he doesn’t want to talk about it, and Keith isn’t about to force him into an intense conversation when he’s so clearly not in an intense mood. They both sit on the couch, a decent amount of space between them, and cradle the ramen in their laps. Lance’s phone sits on the coffee table, lighting up every ten or fifteen seconds with a new notification. He ignores it and takes a bite of his ramen. 

“Holy shit,” He muffles around a mouth full of noodles. 

“You like it?” Keith asks. 

“This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.” The words are slurred as Lance stuffs more noodles in his mouth. “Ohmm’grdd.” 

Keith tries to bite down his grin. “Good, I’m glad.” 

“It’s a good thing I had such a talented chef.” Lance sends him a small wink, smirking a little before opening his mouth for another bite. Keith ignores the way his heartbeat throbs in his throat. 

“Yeah, sure takes a lot of talent,” he deadpans, snorting. 

They sit and eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. When Lance talks again, he’s telling a story about a waitress who once asked him out at a ramen restaurant in New York City. Keith laughs at the awkward parts and then tells Lance about how he once tried to cook ramen when he was drunk and almost burned the house down. Lance laughs and laughs, in the cute wheezy way that people sometimes do when they think something is hilarious. His eyes shine. They talk like this for a while, just exchanging stories. The conversation is utterly meaningless. It goes from awkward date experiences to department store cashiers to the ingredients for the perfect taco. At one point Lance goes on a rant about wool socks that has tears springing to Keith’s eyes. He can’t stop laughing. The phone on the table keeps lighting up. Lance keeps ignoring it. 

Keith has a feeling that maybe Lance isn’t supposed to be here. That maybe he’s avoiding something. But he doesn’t dare bring it up. 

He’s having too much fun. 

As the afternoon starts to melt into the evening, Keith brings out a couple of blankets. He’s not sure when they started sitting closer, but huddled in the fuzzy blankets he can feel Lance's shoulder, the outside of his thigh, pressing into his side through layers of soft fabric. Everything is warm. Lance’s previously tidy hair is disheveled now, falling into his face and flopping adorably on his forehead. Keith wants to bury his fingers, his  _ face _ , in it. Lance is grinning brightly, leaning his cheek on the back of the couch and talking about his favorite seafood restaurant in Maine. The evening light appears to be absorbed into his skin. Keith doesn’t have to turn around to see the sunset. All of the colors play across Lance’s smooth, freckled cheeks. 

In this room, under these blankets, they are just two people. Keith isn’t an adrenaline junkie with a dead father and Lance isn’t trapped in fame and longing for a family. They are just eating ramen. They are just talking. 

Keith hasn’t felt quite this normal, this  _ satisfied _ , in a very long time. 

Lance turns his phone over, hiding the screen and ignoring it altogether. 

Eventually, they turn on the tv. It has gotten sufficiently dark outside and there is a brief lull in the conversation. Lance scans through the channels and Keith lets every single muscle in his body loosen. Relax. He can easily fall asleep. 

On the screen, there is a romantic comedy playing. Keith cringes when one of the main characters appears on the screen—played by none other than Lance’s father. 

“It’s fine, gorgeous,” Lance says gently, probably feeling Keith tense up. He sighs a little. “He was great in this one.” There is a small, wistful smile on Lance’s face when Keith turns to look at him. His eyes are trained on the screen, illuminating all of his features in the dark room. 

“Have you seen him in a lot of things?” Keith asks hesitantly. 

“I’ve watched everything.” Lance swallows. “Everything he’s ever been in, I mean.” 

“Really?” For some reason, this causes a squeezing in Keith’s chest that can only be described as heartache. Aching for another person; their loss, their pain. He sits up to look at Lance more closely. “Every single thing?” 

Lance nods slowly. “Yeah.” His eyes don’t leave the screen. “Especially after he…” 

They both sit in silence. Anton’s character gives a loud belly laugh on screen. It echoes through the room. Lance mutes it, tossing the remote onto the next couch cushion and turning towards Keith. 

“Keith?” He asks it in a small voice. It sounds odd, not being called ‘Kogane’ or ‘gorgeous’. But Keith finds that he quite likes the way his name sounds on Lance’s lips. 

“Hm?” He replies. 

“Tell me more about your dad.” 

Keith clears his throat, a little thrown off by the request. “I…” He’s blushing now. His dad is probably looking down at him from somewhere up there, rolling his eyes. _Just_ _tell him about me, Keith,_ he would say. _Have a touching moment with this boy. Do I have to do all the work for you?_

He smiles a little to himself. 

“What do you want to know?” He asks Lance. 

Lance shrugs. “Anything.” 

_ Go on, then, _ his dad nudges in his head. 

“Uh...well, he...always lost his car keys? Which drove my mom absolutely crazy.” Keith is mystified that this is the first thing he thinks to say. “He would come home from work and throw them literally anywhere. One time my mom bought a key dish to put next to the front door and he ended up losing the dish too.” Keith chuckles softly. “He hated the smell of roses. Loved taking me and Shiro to the aquarium—it was one of his favorite places. He had this...one pair of  _ hideous _ green combat boots that were always covered in mud, and he wore them everywhere, Lance. Like,  _ everywhere _ . My mom wanted to burn them.” Keith realizes he’s wringing his hands nervously, despite smiling. He’s shaking slightly and tries to stop himself. Lance is looking at him with unreadable eyes, but intense nonetheless. “He didn’t believe in cologne. Hated squirrels with a passion. Always loved cooking for guests. And traveling. He loved traveling more than anything in the world.” Keith feels himself fall silent for a moment. Lance says nothing. The silence rings in his ears, just enough for a lump to begin to form in his throat. When he speaks again, his voice sounds softer. Sadder. “When I came out, he was the first person to tell me everything was okay.” Tears prick the corner of his eyes and he blinks them away. “When he went to the hospital for the first time, he brought us donuts on the way back. Told us there was nothing to worry about.” He wills the tears to just  _ leave _ already. “He thought I was courageous...He thought I was  _ brave _ . And in his eyes...nothing I ever did could change that.” 

The last three words come out choked. This is what a Coran must have meant, about actually feeling the pain. Keith could feel it, piercing its way into his feeble bones. It’s not until Lance’s warm hands clasp over his that he realizes he is shivering violently. Slowly, the shaking stops. Lance’s thumb caresses the back of his hand, slow and comforting. 

“For the record, your dad was right,” Lance says softly. His voice is like honey; sweet, and healing, and so painfully lovely. “You  _ are _ brave, Keith.”

And Keith could get drunk, just  _ listening _ to Lance say his name like that, over, and over, and over again. 

 

><><><><><><

 

When Keith wakes up, it is to a series of very confusing events. First, he realizes that he is not in his bed. He isn’t even in his room. He’s in the living room, on his couch. Slowly, he attempts to move, starting with his index finger, and then his middle finger, until he realizes something—he is not alone. He is literally  _ curled into _ a very warm, very sleepy Lance Martinez. Keith moves his face slightly and feels the tip of his nose, the bow of his

Lips, brushing against the hot skin below Lance’s jaw. He freezes—how did he get so close? He tries to ask that question to every one of his limbs, moving them slightly to gauge where they are in relation to Lance’s body. 

The verdict, to Keith’s dismay, is that he is clinging on for dear life in every way possible. It is like he somehow, in his sleep, tried to morph their entire beings together. Keith feels panic rising in his throat as he tries to move the right side of his body, which is pinned almost entirely between Lance’s body and the back of the couch. Heat pools in his cheeks, in his stomach, in his chest, at the proximity. Lance still smells sweet—but it’s a little faded. He kind of just smells like  _ boy _ now, which Keith likes more than he wants to admit. The more real Lance appears to be, the less Keith can resist him. 

He doesn’t remember how they fell asleep like this. Just when he is about to try, his phone lights up and he realizes he has a text. 

 

**Shiro**

 

_ Hey Keith, hope you don’t mind if I stop by. Doorman let me in, I’m on my way up. Bringing breakfast. See you soon!  _

 

Keith’s heart nearly stops, eyes widening. The text was sent three minutes ago, which means—

There is a soft knocking on his front door, and Keith jerks into a standing position.  _ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.  _ He looks frantically at Lance and then the door and then Lance again. His heartbeat roars in his ears. “Lance,” He hisses loudly. No response. He grabs Lance’s shoulder, shaking urgently. Lance makes a grumbled noise and turns away from him, looking irritated, before his expression smooths out into a neutral, sleeping one again. 

“Keith? You up?” Shiro’s voice muffled through the door. Keith stares at it with wide eyes. Lance never told him that he was an obnoxiously heavy sleeper. “Lance!” He whisper-yells again, shaking harder. No response. He groans, running a hand down his face. There’s no explanation for this. There is no explanation for a very soft and sleepy Lance to be curled upon Keith’s couch. Shiro will be able to put two and two together instantly. 

In a last-ditch attempt to save himself, he lifts a pillow from the corner of the couch and hits Lance square in the face. He gets nothing in response but another grumble. 

“Are you kidding me?” Keith squeaks uselessly at him. 

“...Keith?” Another muffled question from the door. “I can hear you in there.” 

Keith sighs. It’s no use. It was bound to happen, in all honesty, he just thought he’d be more ready. He thought that Lance woke up to noise like a normal person. He thought he’d be dressed with his teeth brushed at least, instead of the sad, sleepy state he’s in right now. 

Mentally preparing himself, he waddles over to the door. He takes a second to breathe, placing his hand on the handle, before turning it and pulling the door open. 

“Keith! Hi.” Shiro grins brightly when he sees him. “Sorry for just dropping by.” He holds up a brown paper bag. “I brought waffles.” 

Keith, despite everything, grins. “With chocolate chips?” 

“Of course.” Shiro smiles back expectantly. “You gonna let me in?” 

Keith clears his throat. “Uh, right...Shiro, there’s something you should—“ 

He is cut off by a rustling on the couch from somewhere behind him. The rustling gets louder, and Shiro’s eyes grow wide, focused over Keith’s shoulder. All Keith can do is let out a long, tired breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Shiro continues staring over his shoulder, completely frozen. It’s over. He has been spotted. From the couch behind him, Keith hears an appreciative whistle. “Hey, Kogane. Am I dreaming or is that an angel standing in your doorway?” 

Lance has, quite literally, the  _ worst _ timing in history.

Shiro’s brows pinch together in confusion like he doesn’t realize Lance is blatantly hitting on him. His eyes are still wide as saucers. Keith sighs, grabbing Shiro’s forearm and tugging him gently into his apartment. Shiro stumbles wordlessly, eyes still trained on Lance. 

“He looks even more irresistible up close,” Lance says in a sleepy voice, rubbing one of his eyes in a way that makes Keith’s insides feel gooey. 

“Lance, stop harassing him,” Keith says, exasperated. Shiro stands very still, blinking between both of them. Keith, then Lance, then Keith, then Lance again. 

“Is my bed-head too gorgeous for you?” Lance flirts playfully. “It’s alright if you need some time to take it in. I get that a lot.” 

Shiro’s expression finally falls into one of mild frustration, but Keith doesn’t miss the small flush in his cheeks. Wow, Lance really can charm  _ anyone _ , can’t he? 

Shiro looks at Keith, still in shock. He clears his throat, and Keith can tell that he is trying very very hard to keep a presentable composure. “Uh, Keith?” 

Keith braces himself. “Yes?” 

“Wanna tell me why there's a celebrity sleeping on your couch?” 

“I’m right here, you know,” Lance says, amused. Shiro’s eyes remain on Keith. Keith watches his jaw clench, and unclench. He’s really trying to keep his cool. 

“Keith?” He asks again, his voice less calm this time. 

“Uh…” This isn’t fair, Keith had no time to prepare. He just goes for the easy option. “Lance, this is my brother, Shiro.” 

Lance grins charmingly. It gets Keith to blush, too. This boy is too gorgeous for his own good, even with morning breath and a pillow crease on his cheek. “Jeez, your family has good genes.” He rests his chin in his hand and blinks dreamily at the two of them. “I’m Lance.” He says. 

“I know,” Shiro says it very eagerly and then swallows hard, seeming to shake himself out of whatever trance he was in. “I-I know. Oh my god. Hi.” He says it awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually...like this. I mean, I’m usually well spoken...I think. Uhm. I’m just such a huge fan.” He chuckles nervously. 

Lance looks genuinely taken aback by this. “What?” 

And then, as if puzzle pieces are slowly falling into place, Shiro’s expression clears. Keith can see the gears beginning to turn in his head, at top speed. He speaks slowly, and clearly. “You’re  _ Lance Martinez.”  _ He says it like he’s trying to convince himself, gesturing towards Lance. “Sleeping on my  _ brother's couch.” _

Lance winks at him. “Could be sleeping on  _ your _ —“

“Alright, that’s enough.” Keith flicks Lance’s forehead, and Lance yelps, rubbing the spot afterward. “Keep it in your pants.” 

Shiro looks stunned. Still mildly starstruck. “I’m...going to use the restroom.” He says slowly. “Keith?” 

“Yeah?”

“Come with me?”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “To...the bathroom?” 

“ _ Keith _ .” 

“Alright, alright.” Lance snorts from behind him as they make their way to Keith’s bedroom where, conveniently, there is also a bathroom. When they get there, Shiro scrambles to shut the door behind them. He whirls around, staring at Keith. 

”I’m going to give you two minutes to explain what the  _ hell _ is going on.” Shiro looks exasperated. “Of  _ course _ you’re up to something! I should've known when I didn’t hear from you for a while, that you were doing something bizarre! What the hell is going on?” Keith tries to open his mouth but Shiro is rambling again. A blush tints his cheeks as he speaks. “You blindsided me! Couldn’t you have given me a little warning? Lance is a  _ huge _ public figure in the field I’m interested in, and I’m wearing  _ sweatpants _ !” 

“Could you keep your voice down?” Keith hisses. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“What on earth is going on?” Shiro looks hurt. There is no longer anger in his expression, just confusion. Keith sighs. This all really started because he wanted to help Shiro. He made a deal with Lance, and he knows now that Lance will not go back on it. Lance will make sure Shiro gets the opportunities he deserves to begin his career. Shiro continues speaking when Keith fails to. “Have you officially lost your mind? Now that you can’t be a criminal anymore, you have to do something else  _ absolutely insane _ ? Oh my god, did you  _ kidnap _ him?” 

The speculation is hurtful, but there are grounds for it. Keith has done some pretty fucked up shit in the past and Shiro has been there for all of it. Every single thing. So it’s not crazy that Shiro would assume Keith was doing something destructive. 

He finds himself asking, “Haven’t you seen the news?” 

Shiro’s brow furrows. “What, the  _ dating rumors _ ?” 

Keith nods. Shiro snorts. “I’m telling you, Keith. In this industry, they really do make something out of absolutely nothing.” 

It’s insane that Shiro hasn't even questioned it. Even with the photos. Even with all the proof, he still doesn’t believe it could ever happen. It is relieving to Keith on a surface level, but...discouraging on a deeper level. 

“So? Are you going to tell me the truth?” Shiro is using his ‘dad’ voice. It was used a lot more after their dad passed away. Shiro felt responsible for assuming a paternal role, and had a lot of conversations like this with Keith, especially when Keith started acting out. 

Keith swallows hard. He doesn’t know what is better; lying, or the truth. He doesn’t know how to start from the beginning. As much as he loves Shiro, and wants him to know the truth, he knows that he can’t ever betray Lance like that. Everything that Lance has ever told him, he told him in confidence. They are personal details; intimate and exclusive. Lance has been stabbed in the back so many times. Used so many times. Keith can’t just be another disappointment. For once, he wants to do the right thing, and protect someone's feelings. 

“They are true. The rumors.” He can’t believe he says it out loud. “We are dating.”

Shiro blinks at him. 

They stare at each other. 

The seconds just tick by. One, after the other, after the other. Keith wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Shiro just keeps staring. The silence becomes unbearable after a while, so Keith speaks again. 

“We met up a couple times after I was on his show. I don’t know...it just happened.” 

Shiro takes a deep breath through his nose. “You  _ hate _ him, Keith.” 

Keith shrugs nervously. Yes, he  _ did _ hate him. With the passion of a thousand burning suns. But…”Opinions can change.” He says. Then, softer, “People can change.”

“This isn’t people,” Shiro whispers, incredulous. “This is  _ Lance Martinez. _ ” 

“Lance Martinez happens to be a people.” Keith raises an eyebrow. “He’s different than you think.” 

Shiro looks like he’s about to pass out. “This is the same Lance that just flirted with me right in front of you?” 

“That’s just...he’s stupid sometimes. But he’s actually really sweet.” Keith mumbles. 

Shiro looks unconvinced. 

“I’m serious.” Keith tries again. “We’ve been dating for a couple months now.” 

“ _ Months _ ?” 

Keith hesitates. How long has he known Lance? How convoluted can this lie get? “Yeah. Well, I haven’t been keeping track, but…” 

More silence. 

“You…” Shiro’s expression seems to be softening. “So...The rumors…?” 

Keith nods reluctantly.

“Why didn’t you didn’t tell me?” 

It pierces Keith’s chest like a needle. “It was complicated for a while.” Guilt eats away at him because even this truth isn’t the real truth. He’s not actually dating Lance. It’s like a lie, within a bigger lie, and it’s starting to fester. “I was going to tell you this weekend.” Another lie. “Because Lance was going to, like, officially confirm it to the press and stuff and wanted me to wait until then to tell people.” Another lie. “I’m sorry.” 

Shiro sighs, taking a few steps backward and flopping down on Keith’s bed. There is a moment before he speaks again. “Are you happy?” 

It’s not what Keith was expecting. “I am.” He doesn’t know if he is. “Very happy.” 

Silence hangs in the air.

“My little brother...is dating Lance Martinez,” Shiro mumbles it like he’s trying to see how it sounds. 

More silence. 

And then, “Keith?” 

“Hm?” 

“What...What is he like?’

Keith clears his throat, blushing furiously as he moves to sit next to Shiro on the bed. “He’s not as perfect as he is on TV,” he says. “But, he’s also...much  _ more _ perfect than he is on TV.” It’s the only way Keith can think to say it. It’s the only real description he can come up with. 

Shiro just smiles in reply, and at that moment Keith doesn’t let himself feel too guilty.  

 

><><><><><

 

Shiro only brought two waffles, but Lance insists that it is okay, because he ‘never eats carbs.’ Keith tries to reveal that Lance did, in fact, eat one and a half packs of ramen the night before, but Lance shushes him and frowns. His nose wrinkles in the cutest way and Keith feels the need to get up and leave the room. 

As if he literally can’t help himself, Shiro jumps right into the talk of show business. Keith tries to hide his own smile, but he can’t help it. Seeing Shiro talk about something with so much passion and light in his eyes is a sight that Keith never thought he would see again. He was getting really sick and tired of watching Shiro deflate into himself, and give up. 

Shiro is asking Lance questions upon questions about being on camera, and what it’s like to be on a show, and what his director is and his producer’s personality and how the set operates. Lance, to Keith’s surprise, actually knows a lot about the subject. It’s like he studied it. Keith doesn't understand why he’s so surprised; Lance grew up in that environment and knows it better than the average person knows a grocery store. Still, he is shocked by the way industry terms and equipment names just roll of Lance’s tongue, like he learned those terms before he learned the rest of the English language. 

Shiro is freaking the fuck out. Keith can tell. Lance probably can’t, but Keith has known Shiro is whole life, and he knows when his older brother is trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl. 

They talk like that for a while, seeming to forget that Keith is even there. Keith has an odd, yet affectionate feeling, that he probably didn’t even have to make a deal with Lance for him to help Shiro with his career. By the looks of it, Shiro charmed Lance all on his own. Lance is helping Shiro all on his own, and Keith looks between the two of them with more feeling than he’s felt in quite a while.  

A few months ago, meeting a new person was enough to make Lance completely shut down; but Lance is regarding Shiro with an immediate openness that Keith honestly wasn’t at all expecting. Watching him be comfortable with somebody new is a cozy, safe feeling that Keith welcomes with pride.

Lance pulls a card out of a small, thin silver wallet in his back pocket and hands it to Shiro, after what seems like an hour of loud chatting. “This is my director’s card.” Lance smiles genuinely at him. “I’m not sure if he’s looking for talent or anything, I’m honestly not sure how that works. But I do know that he loves talking about himself. So...you could probably shadow him for a week or so if you want.” 

Shiro looks like he could fall to the floor and kiss Lance’s feet. “Really?” 

Lance nods. “I’m sure of it. You’ll kind of see some behind the scenes for the show and stuff. You’ll have to tolerate watching my face for an entire week though.” Lance giggles jokingly. 

“Oh, I watch every episode of your show anyway.” Shiro blurts it excitedly, and then clears his throat, looking away. “You know, to keep up on trends and such.” 

Lance grins, but it’s not cocky. It’s not annoying, or arrogant, or corny. It’s just bewildered happiness. “Really?” 

Shiro chuckles. “Yeah.” 

“Well, then you’ll be a perfect fit to tag along.” 

Keith hasn’t seen Shiro look so thrilled in a long time. “Thank you, Lance,” Shiro says. “What Keith said about you was right.” 

Keith sits up straighter. 

“What?” Lance huffs a light chuckle. “And what did Keith say about me, might I ask?” 

“Nothing.” Keith cuts in. 

“He said that you are much more perfect than you are on TV.” 

Keith’s cheeks burn. “I didn’t say that.” 

Lance smirks at him, but Keith can see the softness in his expression. “Did he now?” 

“He did. Looks like you’ve got yourself a pretty dedicated boyfriend, Lance.”

Keith wants to die. 

Lance raises both eyebrows at him, not even able to hide his shock. Keith can tell he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “You...told him?” 

Keith clears his throat. “We were going to tell people this weekend, remember?” Of course, Lance  _ doesn't _ remember, because such agreement never actually existed. But Lance seems to get the idea. Keith can see the appreciation in his eyes--it’s almost like they are saying _ thank you for keeping my secret.  _ “Oh, you’re right!” Lance exclaims, much better at acting than Keith ever game him credit for. “Sorry, I’m used to the whole world knowing, but when it comes to people we are close with it’s a little strange to talk about it.” He laughs nervously. “It’s just so new.” 

“I’m honestly still not sure how this happened,” Shiro admits, “but I’m glad it did. I haven’t seen Keith this happy in--” 

“Yeah, that’s enough,” Keith interrupts quickly, standing up and pushing his chair back. “Anyone want milk?” 

Shiro grins. “I actually need to head out.” He looks smug, like he’s done his duty by embarrassing Keith. “But this was great.” He turns back to Lance. “Thanks again, for everything.” 

“Of course.” Lance gives him an encouraging look. “Don’t forget to call my director.” 

“Trust me, I won’t.” 

As Shiro leaves, he embraces Keith as if to say that he is happy Keith is happy, and then waves goodbye to Lance. They talk for a little longer, lingering at the door before he insists that he’s late for a work event and hurries into the hallway. The door shuts behind him and wastes no time with silence before jumping headfirst into a new conversation. 

“More perfect than I am on TV?” He asks, taking a step in closer to Keith. Keith holds his ground.

“I had to say something believable,” He attempts, clearly out of his depth. The blush on his face has got the giving him away. “I told him we were together, after all.” 

Lance takes another step in. “Hm.” He’s smiling. “Makes sense.” He doesn’t sound at all convinced. 

“And by the way, flirting with him when he walked in really didn't help my cause.” 

Lance is very close now. “You jealous, Kogane?” 

“No.” 

“Good.” Lance bites his lower lip. It doesn’t look intentionally sexy. It looks like he’s just trying to control his smile. But Keith thinks it’s so sexy. He can’t think clearly. 

“Well, for your ears only,” Lance starts, voice low and captivating, “If you really did mean what you said...then that’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said about me.”

Keith swallows, feeling like he couldn’t look away from Lance’s eyes, even if he tried. “Hm. Well, for  _ your _ ears only…”  He finally builds enough willpower to avert his gaze, “I think more people should say sweet things about you.” 

Lance’s face falls slightly, into somewhat of a sad smile. The mood in the air changes--and Keith can swear that he sees the smallest blush color Lance’s cheeks. 

Lance is...blushing.

It may be the first time he’s ever seen anything like that. 

 

><><><><><

  
  


The wrath of Hunk Garrett befalls them shortly after their touching moment. 

Lance finally checks his phone and, to his absolute horror, has about twenty-seven missed calls from Hunk. Keith knew that Lance wasn’t supposed to be running away from his responsibilities, but he isn’t prepared for the screaming match that follows the discovery, when Lance calls Hunk back. Apparently, Lance had ended up missing five appearances, three for events and two for  _ international _ television shows. He just flat out didn’t show up. Instead, he was here, eating instant ramen with Keith. 

When he hangs up, he walks back into the living room with his head hanging slightly and looks at Keith with tired eyes. 

“What is going on?” Keith asks, even though he knows. 

Lance sighs. “I know Hunk is just looking out for me,” he mumbles, “but I am so exhausted.” He sits back down on the couch. “It’s not his fault. I know it isn’t. It’s just...I mean, I shouldn’t have scheduled anything for this week.” 

Keith moves to sit next to him, concerned. “Why not?” 

“This week is always hard for me.” He glances up at Keith and then back down at his lap. “It’s the anniversary. You know. Of my dad’s...disappearance.” 

Keith lets the words float around for a little bit, eyes focusing on Lance’s face. There is a distinct discomfort in his chest that feels familiar. It is the same discomfort that he had when he visited his dad in the hospital for the first time--like he could sense sad things to come. 

“M’sorry, Lance.” He says softly, leaning over slightly so that their shoulders touch. “I should've realized…” 

“No, you’re good.” Lance smiles wryly at him. “Thanks for, you know, keeping me company last night. I wasn’t feeling very...regular.”

“I get it,” Keith assures him. “Trust me.” 

Lance sighs. “I know I wasn’t close with him. At all, really. But I always think about that day. My mom and I were excited for him. About a year earlier he had put down a bunch of money to start building this like, massive, custom vacation home, right on the coast of Puerto Rico. It was going to be his best investment--at least that’s what he  _ said _ . And when he left that day with Hayden, they were going to go check it out. Like, it was finished. I couldn’t wait to see pictures of it. To go there someday, with friends, or…” He glances up at Keith again, and then back down. “Or, you know...with someone. And then he just left. We never heard anything. Saw anything. He never came back.” Lance sighs heavily. “Keith, I don’t even remember the last thing I said to him.”

Keith reaches out his hand, intending to lace their fingers together. His heart thuds and he scares himself out of it. Instead, he knocks the back of his hand softly against the back of Lance’s.

“I know how hard it is,” he hears himself saying. 

“I’m not even sure I said goodbye. We never talked. It’s weird because I’m not even sure I miss him at all...but, he’s my  _ dad _ . You know?” 

Keith nods. “Yeah.” 

They sit in a brief silence. Lance just stares at the floor, clearly still unprepared to face his life outside this apartment. Keith wants to badly to hold him. He wants to wrap his arms around him, let Lance bury his face into his neck, feel him breathe and gather up his warmth. He wants to make Lance better, to alleviate some of his grief, and make it his own. 

Lance’s eyes look more gray than blue today. Keith studies them with a heavy feeling in his gut. To think that all of this started because of a vacation house. If Anton really did pass away in a plane crash—which is doubtful at this point—then it would’ve been doing something as simple as visiting a vacation house. When Keith’s father passed away, it was something expected. It was known and accepted. He can’t even imagine what he would’ve done if there were no warning. Both are equally horrible, in entirely different ways. 

And Lance never even got to see the finished vacation house. Or to go to it with...someone special. 

“Do you ever think you want to see that house?” Keith asks hesitantly. In the context of the conversation, the question sounds stupid, but Lance doesn’t seem phased by it. 

He shrugs. “I dunno.” He says. “I don’t know anything about it.” 

Keith feels his eyebrow raising slowly. “Wait, what?” 

“It’s not like he ever showed us blueprints, or like, gave us updates. It was his personal project.” 

Keith frowns. That’s… “That seems odd.” 

“He was a private guy.” 

“Did you ever ask about it?” 

“Well yeah, but…” Confused recognition registers on Lance’s face. “Yeah. I did. A lot, actually.” 

“And?” 

“He always kept it from me.” 

They both look at each other. Neither of them say anything, but Kieth watches as Lance’s eyes drift in and out of focus, like he’s sifting through his memories. 

“In fact,” Lance finally continues, “I don’t think I ever even saw a finished picture of it. Or a photorealistic rendering, or the location, or anything at all.” 

Keith swallows. He hates that he has to ask this. He hates that Lance is looking more and more disappointed with every passing second. “Do you think…?” 

Lance frowns sadly and turns away. He is waiting for Keith to finish the question, even though he knows what the question is already. 

“Do you think it actually exists?” Keith asks gently. 

Lance swallows hard. “I don’t even know anymore.” It comes out like a whisper. “But I think there’s a way we can find out.” 

 

><><><><><><

 

When Keith was eleven, he tried to run away from home. 

He was so sick of everyone telling him what to do. He didn’t want to do homework anymore and he didn’t want to play sports and he just wanted to live an independent life of freedom. He packed a drawstring bag with his Gameboy and three packs of Cheetos and snuck out the front door while his parents were sleeping. He already knew where he was going to go—his friend had a small shed in their backyard where they kept their lawn supplies, and he had said it was cool if Keith stayed there. It was a long walk, but Keith was ready to be free of his parents. He was angry that they made him study so hard. He was angry that he couldn’t hang out with his friends whenever he wanted. They didn’t care about him, all they did was boss him around. 

He only walked for about two minutes before he heard his dad’s voice, calling from behind him.

“Hey, Keith!” His dad called. “Where on earth are you going? It’s 2:30, just come back inside.” 

“I don’t have to listen to you!” Keith said. “I’m independent now.” 

His father sighed. “No, you don’t have to listen to me,” he said, “but just know that I don’t want you to go.” 

Keith stopped walking momentarily and turned around. “Why not?” 

“Because it’s cold out,” His father reasoned, “and Shiro doesn’t know how to clean his room without you there.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “...and I think your mom is going to make those cookies tomorrow.” He smiled. “I saw the ingredients in the fridge.” 

Keith gripped the strings of his small backpack, feeling warm in the cold around him. He did not want to show weakness...but he couldn’t help it. “Really? The ones with the chocolate in the middle?” 

“Of course.” He dad grinned now, big and bright. “To celebrate how well you did in school this week.” 

Keith felt himself smiling too. “Really?” 

“You did all the work, even though it was tough. I think cookies are in order, don’t you?” 

Keith didn’t really care about the cookies. He was just...surprisingly thankful that someone had stopped him. Relieved. Because it  _ was _ freezing out there. And he  _ did _ love his mom’s cookies...despite how much she told him what to do. 

Keith remembers this fondly because he realizes that he has always been an impulsive person—but his father was always there to stop him. To take two steps back with him, and to let him know he was loved. The trouble started when his father wasn’t around to do that anymore. 

As they drive in silence to wherever Lance is taking him, Keith wonders if Anton Martinez ever had someone like that. To stop him. To love him. Lance was far too young, and Lance’s mother seems to be floating around in her own world far too much to try and save someone from theirs. 

He wonders if all these lies could have been avoided. 

If Lance’s pain could’ve been avoided. 

 

><><><><><><

 

They arrive at a mansion that far supersedes Hayden’s in size. Keith didn’t even think it was possible, but houses do exist that are larger and more intricately decorated. He gapes at it for a moment from the car window, before realizing that he recognizes it. This is the Martinez’s publicly known house. This is the house where Lance grew up. It’s in the mountains near Hollywood, very high up and hidden from the ravenous society down below. The view is beautiful. Keith can’t even imagine growing up in a place like this. He can’t imagine how Lance grew up in a place like this. 

He risks a sideways glance at Lance, who is fiddling with the bottom of his teal T-shirt from the night before. He looks tired, emotionally and physically. He looks sad. Nostalgic. 

But he looks real. 

It’s odd, really. Because he is still Lance Martinez. He is still charming, and corny, and flirtatious, and loud. He still puts makeup on every day and hosts a cringe-worthy TV show and has millions of adoring fans. He still lies on Instagram, and wears Gucci suits, and pretends to laugh at jokes that aren’t even funny. He’s Hollywood born, and fame personified. 

But he’s sitting here, in this car, and he’s  _ real _ . His messy, matted hair is real. His bloodshot eyes and dark circles are real. The stain on his jeans and the small wrinkle between his brows are real. His nervous, twitching fingers, small frown, splattered freckles, chapped lips, are all real. 

He is real. 

And Keith is in love with him. 

Lance is talking again but Keith just sits in muffled silence, allowing the weight of the realization to sink in. It feels heavy, in a comforting, yet overwhelming way. It feels light. It  _ feels _ . 

There is no numbness here. 

Lance finally looks at him, and then he smiles. He smiles through the exhaustion. Through the sadness. His teeth are impossibly white and his eyes are blue again. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that, gorgeous?” 

_ You are the gorgeous one, _ Keith wants to say. 

_ You _ . 

 

><><><><><

 

The house is just as impressive on the inside as it is on the outside. Lance just strides in like it’s no big deal, but Keith has to take a few moments to himself, to absorb his surroundings--because this place is  _ enormous _ .  

Unlike Hayden’s house, which looked like it was carved entirely from marble and mahogany, this house is stainless steel and glass. It looks like a massive version of Keith’s apartment, all modern furniture, and floor to ceiling windows. Lance looks painfully tiny in comparison to the large foyer around them. Keith speeds up to walk alongside him as he effortlessly glides up the tall staircase and onto the upper level. It hangs like a hint balcony over the ground floor, and Keith takes a moment to look over the edge at the kitchen. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. “This place is insane.” 

“Hm?” Lance is unphased. “Oh, yeah it’s a little messy right now, sorry.” 

Keith raises his eyebrow. “Messy?” 

“Our maid is on maternity leave. My mom has never washed a dish in her life.” Lance chuckles. 

Keith clears his throat. That topic of conversation seems like it may hit a dead end. He starts another one. “Where are we going?” 

“My mom locked up my dad’s office after he died,” Lance explains, speeding through the winding hallways. Keith struggles to keep up, passing almost twelve closed doors in the process. Lance continues talking. “I only went in there a handful of times in my life, mostly to drop things off. But there are tons of drawers and cabinets that have never been explored--and I honestly never even thought to, until you asked me about the house in Puerto Rico.” They reach a door at the end of the hallway. Well, it’s less of a door and more of a gateway made of thick, solid glass. The glass is blocked on the inside by a set of cream curtains, obstructing the view into the office. Lance takes a deep breath, staring ahead. 

Keith clears his throat. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Yeah.” He looks around briefly. “I’m pretty sure my mom hid the keys in her room somewhere.” He opens the slightly smaller door to his left and walks in. Keith waits outside. If that is Lance’s mother’s room, he doesn’t want to invade anyone’s privacy more than he already has. Lance returns in a couple minutes with the key. “Got it.” 

He twists the key in the lock and they carefully push open to double doors. 

The office is smaller than Keith thought it would be. The walls are made from windows. There is a gray, geometric desk in the center of the room and the back wall is entirely cabinet space. Lance sighs shakily. “Right,” he says, mostly to himself. “Let’s start looking.” 

Together, they approach the cabinets. 

Keith doesn’t know how long they search. All he knows is that it’s not long before papers are covering the floor--hundreds and hundreds of them. There are bills, and invoices, and fan mail, and signed contracts and receipts and a thousand other things. Keith only absorbs a small amount of what he reads, looking for the words “vacation home” or “Puerto Rico” or anything “classified”. 

Lance curls up against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest, and sifts through piles of paper in front of his feet. Keith assumes the same position, opposite him. They don’t talk for a very long time. They just read page, after page, after page. 

Keith knows that Lance is in trouble. Hunk is somewhere out there, worried about him and probably angry. Lance has missed a lot of things he committed to, and you can’t be one of the most famous faces in the country and suddenly go missing. 

But Lance seems adamant on doing this right now, and Keith isn’t going to argue with him. People deal with loss in so many different ways--Keith knows that better than anybody. If making significant progress, in this case, is what Lance needs, of course Keith will help him. 

Somehow, the light outside starts to fade. Keith doesn’t realize how long they have been in the office until the sun starts to set. He looks at his phone. It is 7 PM. It has been six hours. 

He’s about to open his mouth and inform Lance when Lance gasps. 

“Wait--I think I found something!” 

“What is it?” Keith moves so that he is closer, and looks over Lance's shoulder. In his hands, Lance holds a manilla folder that says “Puerto Rico” on the tab. 

There both look at it, unopened. 

“Well?” Keith prods. 

“Alright, alright.” Lance flips the folder open. Immediately, they both gasp. 

The first sheet in the folder is a black and white image of the painted mural that decorates the side of the abandoned building they recently visited. The photo was probably taken before the additional layers of paint were used to cover it--and it is a distinct representation of the tattoo that Keith has on his ankle. 

“What the--? That’s the place we were just at!” Lance squeaks. 

“I knew it was important.” Keith mumbles. “That is the symbol of the gang--right there in plain sight. That’s so crazy.” 

“Maybe it was less secretive when my dad was in it,” Lance speculates, moving the picture to the side. The next paper is a top-down photo of a plot of land--in the corner are latitude and longitude coordinates for the location. “This must be the land he wanted to build the house on. You know. If there is a house.” 

They move to the next sheet. Lance clenches the sheet tightly between his fingers. “This is Hayden’s handwriting.” 

“Oh man…” Keith can't help but let it slip out as he scans the list on the page. Confirming their speculations, on the page is a running list of every number, and more, that they found written on the wall in that building. Next to the numbers, are the names of the celebrities that died. 

“I knew it,” Lance says. “Each person is assigned a number. Before he killed them.” 

“Lance, if they are dead then why does your  _ dad _ have these?” 

“Maybe he was in on it. Maybe everybody in that fucking car theft circuit was in on it. It’s just a murder ring.” 

“You said it yourself--Hayden would never kill your dad.” Keith sighs. “The only explanation I can think of is that...the gang was a perfect cover-up.” 

“Cover up?” 

“Like, whatever they were up to, being in such a high stakes environment made it the least likely that people would question it. Why would anyone want to keep a secret in something that was already so secret?” 

Lance blinks at him, like he’s processing. “You were in this gang, Kogane,” he states. “What kind of people were in it? What did they want? Money?” 

Keith bites at his lip. He knows the answer will probably not be as settling as Lance is expecting. “I think that...I mean, I don’t think anyone in it really does it for the money. They all already have a lot. Your dad did too, ya know?” 

“So why did they do it?” 

He shrugs again. “The same reason I did, I guess. To just...do it.” 

Lance looks mildly annoyed for a moment. “Right.” 

“A lot of them had jobs on the outside. Like, there was a guy I delivered to a lot who owned a lot of real estate. He had his own business for a while…construction company.” 

“Hm.” 

“They all wanted something to do, I guess. Everyone was really power hungry. They loved the feeling of it I think, just making more money. Being powerful.” 

Lance sighs heavily. “Sounds like my dad.” 

Keith nods, at a loss. 

“But if those were the kinds of people who did it then…” Lance studies the list of names and numbers in front of him. “Maybe these people were all unhappy. Or like, unsatisfied, with their lives. You know? I didn’t know how my dad was doing. Nobody did.” His eyes glaze over for a moment. “But I always knew Hayden well. And he was unhappy for a while.” He clears his throat. “Do you think this was some kind of...suicide pact?” 

Keith shakes his head. “I’m a lot like these people.” He says, which  _ still _ makes Lance wince, after all this time. “I never want to die. I’m actually so afraid of dying. I want to do things that make me feel…” 

“More alive.” Lance mumbles. 

“Yeah.” 

“So you think all these celebrities are alive somewhere?” 

Keith, yet again, just shrugs. “Let’s keep looking,” he says gently. 

They turn to the next page. It is the same photo of the original plot of land, but there is an architectural drawing sketched over top of it in white pencil. 

“What the fuck?” Keith can’t help it when it slips out. 

The sketch is not a house. It’s not a mansion or even an apartment building. 

It’s a plan for an entire neighborhood. 

“There are at least twenty houses on here,” Lance whispers. “There’s...it’s…” 

“Your dad built a literal  _ town _ in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.” Keith swallows. He’s starting to get a feeling--he knows what this is about. There are enough houses there for every celebrity on that list. 

Lance just keeps staring at the paper, like it will somehow give him answers, when suddenly Keith’s phone chimes. He fishes it out of his pocket. 

As he reads the messages, the pieces fall into place. One, by one, by one. 

  
  


**Pidge**

 

_ Hunk and I were able to find matches for those numbers you sent us. We’ve finally cracked the database _

 

_ We were right. Every celebrity that died was in the car theft circuit _

 

_ But each one was only in it for about two months before they died. None of them had a longer term than two months, except Hayden and Anton, who were in it for eight whole years _

 

“What is it?” Lance asks. 

Keith explains the texts. He watches Lance’s face twist with confusion. 

But it’s not confusing to Keith anymore. He’s sure he knows what is going on. He knows where Lance’s dad is. And Hayden. He knows that to some extent, it involves the abandoned building, a group of car thieves, and a very detailed plan. And he knows why they did what they did. He’s not exactly sure  _ what _ they did yet, or  _ how _ , but the reason is clear. They wanted to disappear. They wanted it so badly, that they spent years and years planning it, and took a bunch of like-minded people with them. 

The worst part is, he  _ gets _ it. 

He just doesn’t want to tell Lance. 

“What do we do now?” Lance asks. Keith wishes they could put the folder away and forget about it. He wishes he was still speculating. Still in the dark. But what’s done is done. 

He looks at Lance, who is still staring at him with big, confused eyes. He wonders if Lance is faking his confusion. If he’s in denial. But it’s not likely. It’s hard to believe your dad would do anything like this at all. 

“Guess we’re going to Puerto Rico,” Keith says, matter of factly. “To find whatever this is and stop wondering.” 

Lance blinks at him. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

There is hesitation in his eyes. “You...you’d do that for me?” 

Keith pauses because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. But then he thinks,  _ fuck it. _ Because Lance is hurting now. And he’s going to be hurting again soon. And Keith needs him to feel like someone on this nasty, unforgiving planet truly cares about him. 

Truly loves him. 

He says, “I’d do just about anything for you.” 

And when he sees the blush that spots Lance’s freckled cheeks, he can’t even think to feel embarrassed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when will they kiss? ill never tell you
> 
> love you all! <3 thanks so much for taking the time to read. im so very tired. going to bed now


	9. Maserati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> calm before the storm? collective sighs of relief? idk man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't have much to say about this. Sorry it's shorter than usual--I just wanted this to be a bit of a chill chapter. Kind of transitional, i guess. things are happeninggg :) I hope everyone had happy holidays! thanks so much for clicking and reading! <3 
> 
> Also, follow me on twitter! @salibawrites 
> 
> love you guys so much! hope the post s8 mood is treating you well.

Keith dreams that he is sitting in a white, pristine, cold hospital room. He hears the monotonous tone of the heart rate monitor. It sounds familiar in a dreadful way, and the pit in his heart feels like it could swallow him whole if it wanted to. He knows this nightmare. He knows it by heart. His skin is cold and his hands are shaking. He hears nurses in the hallway, talking about their weekend and what they are planning on doing for the holidays. He hears the same ominous buzzing of the overhead lights and smells the same rotten stench of hand sanitizer and synthetic, hospital air. It burns his nose. He waits for numbness. 

Waits, and waits, and waits. 

It doesn’t come. 

He feels too hollow and too full at the same time. Too hot and too cold. He doesn’t feel numb, but it’s almost  _ worse _ . It’s like every breath hurts. When his lungs expand, they are filling with fire and needles and shards of ice. It hurts. When he thinks of his dad’s pain, it hurts. 

When he thinks of his dad, it hurts. 

And then he hears a voice. 

“Keith?” 

It’s coming from the hospital bed. Keith stills, every nerve in his body shuddering to a stop. He stares, in mild shock, at the plastic gray foot of the bed. His voice sounds surprisingly clear when he answers. “D...Dad?”

“Why are you sitting all the way over there?” 

Keith blinks. “What?” 

“How am I supposed to have a conversation with you when you’re sitting all the way over there?” His father laughs, and the sound makes Keith’s heart shatter into a million pieces. He misses it so much. “I promise I’m not contagious.” 

It’s a joke. His dad is telling a joke. 

“I don’t...understand,” Keith says, standing up on wobbly legs and walking towards the side of the bed. He braces himself for his father’s sickly, dead face. He clenches his fists and prepares for the empty eyes, the dark circles, the hollowed out cheeks, and the horrible sound of him coughing. 

But when his dad appears, he’s sitting up in the hospital bed. Looking perfectly normal--perfectly healthy. Flushed cheeks, bright brown eyes, well-rested features and a sprinkling of a five o’clock shadow. 

Keith is speechless. He finds himself blinking away tears. “Dad?” 

His dad laughs again. It hurts, again. “Yes, it’s  _ me _ , stranger. Why are you so surprised? You avoiding me or something?” 

“What? No.” 

“Okay,” his dad smiles. “Well, that’s good, then.” There is an ESPN magazine resting in his lap, and it looks like he’s skimmed through it a couple times now. The corners of two of the pages are folded down, which is something his dad always did when reading. He adjusts his position in the bed like he’s getting comfortable. “So, what did you do today?” He asks casually. “Did Shiro finally clean up that mess under his bed that you were telling me about last week?” 

He used to have these conversations with his father all the time in the hospital before it got too bad. His father was never a picture of health like he is in this dream, but he still loved talking to Keith, no matter what pain he was in. No matter how difficult it was. 

This dream doesn’t feel like a nightmare. 

“I miss you,” Keith says. 

“Miss me?” His father looks confused. “I’m right here.” 

Keith’s eyes fill with tears. “Still miss you,” he says, voice quieter. He looks away. 

His father smiles softly as if he understands. “Yeah,” He whispers. “Miss you too, kid.” 

Keith swallows. He takes a shaky breath, linking his hands together and pressing, hard. His dad seems to notice his nervousness and raises an eyebrow. 

“You alright, Keith?” 

The question takes him by surprise. Hearing it in his dad’s voice makes scenes from reality flash through his mind like an old movie reel. The image of his scars, staring back at him in the mirror. Bloody palms, scraped knees, bruised cheeks, cut knuckles. Shiro’s disappointed face. Missed calls from his mother; one, and then four, and then twenty. A destroyed apartment.

And then Pidge’s smile, as Keith opened the door to greet her.

Coran’s words, gentle and understanding and wise. 

Hunk’s loyalty, to protect his best friend no matter what the cost. 

And Lance. 

Lance’s soft hoodie underneath Keith's fingertips. Lance’s loud laughs and quiet sobs and sloppy freckles and fluffy hair. Lance’s shoulder, soaked with Keith’s tears, and his kindness and selflessness gaudy wardrobe and everything in between. 

And Keith speaks. 

“Yeah,” He says, slowly. “Yeah, I think I’m alright.” A pause. “As alright as I can be right now, anyway.” 

His dad grins. “I can tell.” He holds eye contact with Keith for a warming moment before it breaks, and he’s back to chuckling again. “So, we were talking about Shiro,” his dad continues, sounding happy. “How is that boy such a slob?” 

Keith laughs, and it feels so odd. But so mending. “You should’ve seen his apartment in LA. The dishes were literally overflowing in the sink.” 

They both laugh. 

 

><><><><><

 

When Keith wakes up, he feels more rested than he has in years. 

 

><><><><><

 

It’s been a solid three years since Keith packed for a trip to go literally anywhere. He's not even sure that he can count ‘moving to LA’ as packing since he barely even brought anything when it happened. He was so desperate to get out of his hometown that he basically flew over with nothing prepared. He doesn’t even think he brought more than two more outfits separate from the clothes on his back. It’s a good thing he found car theft when he did, or else he would’ve been screwed. 

But now he stares at his closet like an absolute dipshit because of a few reasons; one of them being that he’s slowly realizing all of his clothes suck. They don’t even suck because they’re boring, they suck because they’re honest to god  _ ugly _ \--littered with holes and stains. How long has he been wearing this shit? 

He’s about to go on an international trip with a guy that he’s basically in love with and he can’t even find a t-shirt without a hole in it. 

Keith sighs, asking the heavens why they decided to make him like this. Accepting his fate, he flings open the duffle bag on his carpet and starts bunching up some clothes in his hands, tossing them in. He’s really not sure what he’s grabbing, but it feels like a little bit of everything. Some shirts, some socks, maybe a pair of boxers. 

Keith doesn’t know how long they will be there, but he knows it won’t be for very long at all. Lance can only lie about where he’s going for so long before people start to speculate, and Hunk has only just recovered from Lance’s last disappearing act. Luckily, Hunk and Pidge will actually know where Lance is this time because they are coming too. They are the ones who unlocked the database after all, and they can probably do a lot to help when all hell breaks loose. 

To say that Keith is nervous is an understatement. He’s nervous from tons of reasons, but mostly because he knows that finding Anton Martinez won’t give Lance what he wants. It won’t give Lance the father that he never had growing up. Anton is still the same person as he was when Lance was growing up. Dead or alive, Anton Martinez is an addict. Just like Keith. And addicts can do horrible things. 

Just like Keith. 

He can do horrible things, like planning to leave his entire family and never look back. 

Keith’s skin itches, and he suddenly feels the urge to call his mom. For the time being, he ignores it. His phone chimes from the other side of the room and he walks over to check it. 

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ We are leaving from the studio at around 7. Does that work for you?  _

 

Keith glances at the time. He still has a couple of hours. 

 

**Keith**

 

_ Yeah. What are you packing?  _

 

**The Worst Person Ever**

 

_ Are you seriously asking me that?   _

 

**Keith**

 

_ I haven't packed for anything in a while  _

 

A few moments go by where Lance doesn’t answer. And then Keith’s phone is ringing. He sighs, answering. 

“You really hate texting, don’t you?” Keith asks. 

“I just prefer to hear your voice, gorgeous.” Lance drawls. “And giving packing advice is easier this way.” 

“Alright then,” Keith deadpans. “Advise me.” 

“We are staying in a wonderful hotel, courtesy of  _ me _ ,” Lance says in a snobby voice, “so all you really need are clothes. Pjs. A toothbrush. Face wash and face lotion, and any serums you use, obviously.” 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Oh, of  _ course _ , my  _ serums _ ,” he says sarcastically. He can hear Lance frown. 

“Shut up, Kogane.” 

Keith moves to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. “Okay, what else?” 

Lance hums. “Hairbrush? Underwear? Lingerie?” 

“Lingerie?” Keith takes a sip of his water. 

“Of course, for all the wild sex we’re going to have.” 

Keith promptly spits out his water, making an alarmed gurgling noise in the back of his throat. Lance bursts out laughing. 

“It’s too easy!” Lance exclaims, through his wheezing laughter. “It’s  _ too easy  _ to mess with you.” 

“I’m going now,” Keith bites, cheeks flaring with heat. “And I’m never talking to you again.” 

“See you in a few hours, gorgeous!” 

Keith hangs up and nearly tosses his phone across the room. God, what a tease. Keith almost thinks that the virgin statement was a lie. There’s just no way. 

And now he’s thinking about having wild sex with Lance and he needs some air. 

 

><><><><><

 

They take a private jet, which Keith was expecting. He can’t even begin to imagine Lance under the fluorescent lights and stale air in the coach section of a commercial airline. Keith watches Lance’s sharp features fall into a neutral expression as he sleeps. His hair wisps across his forehead and he curls into himself, leaning against the window. Keith smiles, to nobody in particular. 

Pidge and Hunk are in the back of the plane. They knew they were going to talk the whole time, but they didn’t want to disturb Keith or Lance so they climbed over a few seats and made room for themselves in the last couple. Keith can hear them faintly chatting--probably about the fact that they are all about to discover something utterly bizarre, and this is bigger than anything any of them have ever done before. 

Lance looks so soft, so vulnerable, so breakable. It’s like he is the most invincible person in the world until Keith witnesses moments like these. He still can’t decide which Lance is more beautiful--the vulnerable one, or the invincible one. 

He opts to stop torturing himself with thoughts of Lance, and instead, leans his head against the window. 

Flying was always something that his mom loved. Whenever they would go on family vacation before his dad passed, his mom wouldn’t be able to stop talking about it for weeks until it happened. Even if they had to wake up at five AM for their flight, his mom would be giddy with excitement. Keith remembers it sadly now. Nothing is the same anymore, and it will never really be like that again. 

His mom is different now. 

Keith wants to call her so badly it hurts. 

In the light of all that he has discovered about Anton, Keith is itching to change his ways. He knows that if he had continued doing what he was doing a year ago, he would end up like Anton. He would abandon his family. He already did it once, and it’s only out of luck that he was able to salvage it. Deep down he knows that his mother will forgive him, but the more time passes, the harder and harder it is for him to forgive himself. 

He feels a poke in his arm and turns around. Lance is leaning across the aisle, resting his cheek in his hand, and looking at Keith with bleary, sleepy eyes. “What time’sit?” He slurs, blinking rapidly. His hair sticks up on one side and Keith huffs a laugh. 

“Should be landing soon,” Keith replies. “Sleep well?” 

Lance rubs his eyes, humming. He nods. “Did you sleep?” 

Keith shakes his head. 

“Hm. No wonder you look like shit.” Lance grins, eyes lighting up. Keith reaches out and flicks his forehead. “Ow!” 

“Asshole.” 

“You know you never look like shit, right, gorgeous?” Lance winks. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“How do you manage to flirt five seconds after you wake up?” 

Lance shrugs. “Just can’t help myself when I’m around you.” He sends another corny grin and Keith sighs. Blushing just seems to be a regular part of his face at this point. Lance giggles, and it sounds lighthearted. Bubbly. Keith has a sinking feeling in his chest--once Lance finds his dad, he’s not sure he’ll be hearing that for a while. 

Maybe he should tell Lance what he thinks is going on. 

“Lance…” He says, sounding nervous. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

Lance’s face falls slightly. “Hm?” He asks. 

Keith is about to muster up the courage to say it. He’s about to say  _ I don’t think your dad is in trouble.  _ He’s about to say _ It was his choice to leave you _ . But just as he opens his mouth, the overhead speakers buzz to life. 

“Mr. Martinez, sir, we are just a few miles out. We will be landing shortly. Please return to your seat and fasten your seatbelts.” 

Keith wrinkles his nose, glancing up at the speakers. The annoyance must show on his face because Lance giggles again. 

“What is it, gorgeous?” He grins, lopsided and charming. “Were you gonna confess your undying love for me or somethin’?” 

Keith’s face doesn’t react the way he needs it to, but it’s a good thing his voice does. “In your dreams, Martinez,” he says, nonchalantly. This only elicits a small giggle from Lance again, as he leans back into his seat and buckles his seatbelt. 

 

><><><><><><

 

Keith has decided that this hotel is an architectural phenomenon. It doesn’t make sense for the entirety of a building to be made from glass, but it looks like that’s how this hotel was built. The moment Keith saw it, he was struck dumb. He’s not a stranger to living in luxury. His apartment in LA is pretty pricey and has floor to ceiling windows all around. But this? This is insanity. 

They are right on the beach. They have a private pool and hot tub area that is only a sliding door away. There is a bathtub in the middle of the bedroom, covered in lilies and rose petals. They have the penthouse suite, which means that there are multiple  _ rooms _ in their room--including a kitchen, an extra bedroom, a living area, and a laundry room. 

“I can’t believe the people at the front desk knew you and your reservation by name,” Pidge says in disbelief, waddling cluelessly into the beautiful living area. “How often do you come here?” 

Lance shrugs. “This is my vacation space. I’ve had it since I was little.” 

“You  _ own _ this place?” 

“Yeah.” Lance kicks his shoes off and sits on the fluffy sofa. Keith sits down next to him. “I stopped coming here after what happened to my dad, but...Yeah, I came here all the time with Hayden when I was growing up.”

Keith looks around. It’s so vastly different from the environment that he grew up in. His house was small and cozy. It was in a neighborhood where everyone knew everyone. He had a family dinner with Shiro and his parents every night. He didn't get on his first plane until he was eleven. Lance comes from a different universe. There is so much about him that is still a mystery. 

It also occurs to Keith that if Hayden made so many trips here over the years, they can’t be too far from where Hayden and Anton built their new life. The thought sends a chill up his spine and he reminds himself to talk to Lance before the day is over.

“So, what’s the plan?” Hunk asks, slipping his backpack off his shoulders and falling into a giant beanbag in the corner of the room. 

“We still have a bit more research to do,” Pidge says. “We may have the coordinates to find what we are looking for, but we should probably know more. Lance, did you bring the files with you?” 

Lance huffs, rolling his eyes. His head lolls onto the back of the sofa. “Guys, come  _ on _ .” He drones. “Take a look around! We are in my  _ vacation _ home. Can’t we relax a little?” Nobody responds for a moment and he kicks his feet up onto the coffee table in defiance. “I think we at least deserve that much.” 

Hunks sighs. “I mean...I guess we can start in a couple of hours.” 

“Why don’t you guys relax?” Keith asks, gesturing to Hunk and Lance. “You’ve been working hard lately. Pidge and I will start sifting through the files.”

Pidge looks at Keith like he’s crazy. It’s not really something that Keith would normally suggest. Keith tries his best to send her a look that says _ “can we talk? _ ” Realization dawns on her face and she gives him a sad smile. 

Lance and Hunk glance at each other. Lance looks slightly disappointed, which makes Keith want to take back what he said. But then they nod at each other. 

“Alright,” Lance says. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Hunk. “Pool?” 

Hunk smiles. “Race ya.” 

They are scrambling out the sliding door in seconds. 

Pidge looks at Keith with worried eyes, because she knows something is wrong. “Keith…” She begins. 

“I know,” Keith mutters, sighing as he tucks his knees up to his chest. “What the hell have I gotten myself into? I mean, I was part of an illegal gang for a year and I never felt afraid, or...or got into any trouble. And look at me now.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s a mess, isn’t it?” 

Pidge shrugs, moving to sit next to him. “It’s straightforward, actually,” she says. “I mean, Anton and Hayden developed an illegal business under the cover of an  _ already _ illegal business, offering celebrities a chance to disappear and leave their old lives behind. All they have to do is pay a large sum of money.” 

Keith puts his face in his hands. “I know it’s straightforward, Pidge. That's not what I’m talking about.” 

Pidge puts a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah…” She says softly. “I know.” 

“What am I going to do?” Keith asks, not expecting an answer. “This guy has been let down by literally everyone he has ever loved in his life. He thought that this would  _ complete _ him, Pidge. But it’s just more proof that people will always let him down.” Keith’s voice catches a little. “How can so many people love him, but not care about him? It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Pidge’s bony shoulder bumps into his, gently. She doesn't speak for a moment, like she’s trying to find the right things to say. Then she give a little sigh. “You really do love him, huh?” 

Keith looks down at his hands. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud. 

“Lance is stronger than you think,” Pidge soothes. It’s so gentle, it could be a whisper. “Look at what he has survived through so far. And all of that was without you. Without  _ anyone _ , really. Except maybe Hunk.” Keith looks up at her and she smiles. “Now, he has  _ you _ , Keith. He has someone.”

“Hunk says he’s had people before. People who have hurt him.” Keith sniffs. “How is he ever going to believe that people can  _ love _ him, you know? Like, how is he going to believe that  _ I _ \--” He still can’t say it. 

“Are you going to hurt him, Keith?” 

Keith blinks at her, swallowing the lump in his throat. He’s hurt a lot of people. It’s the way he is. But he can’t imagine ever hurting Lance again. Slowly, he shakes his head. 

“Then he will believe you.” She offers a shrug. “Maybe not right away...but he will.” 

They sit in silence for a moment, and Keith realizes that his heart is racing. He looks out the giant window and sees Hunk and Lance, laughing loudly and trying to tackle each other into the pool. His heart bubbles and bursts and he’s not even sure what he’s feeling anymore. 

“Wanna join them in the pool?” Pidge asks. “Because I really want to.” 

“What about research?” 

“It can wait. I just wanted to make sure you were okay” She raises her eyebrows. “So?” 

Keith smiles, hearing Lance’s laugh muffled through the glass door. “Yeah…” He says, “Yeah, let’s go.” 

 

><><><><><

 

“Kogane, I swear to god, if you order a pizza I’ll kill you.” Lance is in nothing but a pair of tiny, teal swim trunks. He is towel-drying his hair and trying to hold a normal conversation with Keith as if Keith can actually hear anything he is saying over the buzzing in his head. Lance truly is one of the most beautiful people Keith has ever seen with his own two eyes. It’s almost disgusting how endearing his body is--thin, wiry muscles, smooth, dark skin splattered artistically with freckles. It’s like each tiny brown fleck was placed  _ perfectly _ into his--

“Keith?” Pidge elbows him. “You good?” 

“Hm? Oh, right. Sorry.” He turns to Lance, who is smirking at him. “Long day.” 

“Right,” Lance drawls, smirk widening. God, what a little shit. “So we’ll order something else, then?” 

“What?” Wait, what were they talking about? 

“Pizza.” Pidge rolls her eyes. “Lance doesn’t want pizza.” 

“Who the hell doesn’t want pizza?” Keith asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“What part of  _ no carbs _ do you not understand?” Lance asks, gesturing to his, admittedly gorgeous, toned stomach. “I’ve got to maintain some semblance of control, even on vacation.”

“You’re the worst.”

Pidge and Hunk exchange a glance. “Why don’t Hunk and I just go pick something up?” Pidge asks. “Give you guys some time to rest.” She gives Keith a look that he can’t decipher, but it makes him blush anyway. 

“Sounds good to me.” Hunk agrees. “Lance, I saw a smoothie bowl place on the corner. We can go get some stuff and come back up. Sound good?” He doesn’t give anyone enough time to answer. “Great! C’mon, Pidge.” 

Keith doesn’t know when Hunk started seeing him as a positive thing in Lance’s life. The last time they had a conversation, Hunk nearly bit his head off. Now, he seems perfectly content leaving them alone together. He has a feeling it has something to do with Pidge. 

The front door shuts and Lance and Keith stand alone in the living room. Lance starts humming a little to himself, continuing to dry his hair as he walks into the kitchen area. Keith watches dumbly for way too long before following him. As Lance opens the fridge door, Keith hops onto the counter, letting his legs dangle off the side. He clears his throat, heartbeat fluttering in his toes. “Hey, can we talk?” 

Lance shuts the fridge door, revealing a shit eating grin on his face. “Is it about how hot you think I am?” He chuckles. “Because I  _ saw _ you checking me out. Don’t even try to deny it.” 

Keith scowls. “I was  _ not _ checking you out.” He defends. 

“Right, right. Of course you weren’t.” 

Keith likes this back and forth banter a little too much. As much as he wants to get into the serious conversation, he also wants to enjoy this a little longer. He snaps back with something else sarcastic, and Lance laughs. Keith loves that laugh. The conversation blossoms from there--it’s not about anything important. They seem to be having a lot of meaningless conversations these days, but it’s nice. It makes everything feel normal. It’s something Keith doesn’t think Lance ever did much before, because everything he ever did was for show. For a purpose. Without a lot of friendships to keep him company. They talk, and talk, and talk. It’s only after Lance mentions how hungry he is that Keith remembers he was supposed to be having a serious conversation about Lance’s father. He takes a deep breath. 

“Lance, about what I was going to say before…” He swallows. “I don’t mean to like, put a damper on things. It’s just…we need to talk.” 

“Alrighty,” Lance chirps, “but before we get into it, let’s make a snack.” He rubs his hands together and smiles. “I’m too hungry to wait for food.” 

“A snack? Are you serious?” 

“Yeah! All the snacks in here are complimentary.” Lance opens one of the cupboards and gasps. “Salt and vinegar chips!” 

“Wha--are you kidding me?” Keith squeaks. “What happened to  _ no carbs? _ ” 

Lance waves a hand in his face. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m tired of that.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“Today can be a cheat day.” 

“You are ridiculous” 

Lance shrugs, opening the bag of chips with a loud crinkle. He sticks his entire face into the opening and inhales deeply. “Fuck yes,” he mutters. “Glorious.” 

Keith chuckles. “Great,” He says, watching Lance stuff a handful of chips into his mouth. “Can we talk now?” 

Lance nods slightly. “Shoot.” 

“Okay…” the nerves start to tangle up in Keith’s stomach again. He has to be brave, just bite the bullet, but now Lance is staring at him with big blue eyes, which look curious and expectant, and he can’t find the words. 

“You good, gorgeous?” Lance smirks lightly. “I know, confessing your feelings can be hard, but I understand.” 

Keith shakes his head a little too violently. “I’m not—would you shut up?” 

Lance giggles. 

“Anyway. I just—“ he sighs. “There’s something I think you need to know about your—“ 

The door bursts open and Hunks voice booms through the foyer. “Got the smoothie bowls!” A pause. “Wait, Lance! What are you doing with those chips? Are you  _ kidding _ me?” 

Lance looks panicked as he stuffs the open bag into the nearest cupboard. “I’m not eating them! It was Keith! Thank  _ god _ , smoothie bowls!” 

Keith frowns, extremely frustrated. He’s running out of time to talk to Lance. Tomorrow they start to search. Lance shouldn’t be in the dark for much longer, especially if Keith already knows what they will find. He clears his throat. “Lance was definitely just eating chips.” He smirks. 

Lance gasps. “Betrayal.”

 

><><><><><

 

Hunk and Pidge agree to take the extra bedroom because it’s much bigger and there is a sofa bed. According to them, they “need more space”, which in Keith’s opinion means that they are expecting him and Lance to need less space, which is a suggestion that Keith doesn’t want to entertain himself thinking about. 

Of course, when they walk into the room, there is one bed sitting in the center. Keith doesn’t care, the bed seems big enough for two people. Lance grins, nearly blinding Keith, as they walk towards the bed. “Cuddle party!” He shouts, tossing his bag into the corner of the room and flopping down onto the bed. “We get to cuddle all night.” 

Keith chuckles. “How lucky am I?” He asks sarcastically. 

“Super lucky. Do you know how many people in the world would  _ die _ for a night of cuddling with  _ Lance Martinez?”  _ He is clearly being dramatic to make Keith laugh. He lifts his head and sends a wink in Keith’s direction. “Consider yourself blessed.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, walking over to the bed. “Do you snore?”    
“Absolutely not. I’m virtually flawless. I assume that you do?” 

Keith frowns. “Why would you assume that?” 

“Angry people usually snore.” Lance shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.” 

“I’m not angry.” 

Lance giggles. “Of  _ course _ you aren’t.” He doesn’t sound very convinced. Keith decides to drop it. Arguing will only prove his point. 

Keith starts digging through his bad, trying to find more comfortable clothes to sleep in. He didn’t pack very efficiently, but he manages to find a soft black t-shirt and some loose gray shorts. He pulls them out, starting to feel just how tired he is. They all ended up eating and talking until around midnight. Lance told stories about some of the things that have happened in this suite, and Hunk shared some of his stories as well, from when he and Lance were younger. Keith genuinely enjoys learning more about Lance’s past. It’s something he almost wishes he could have been around for--to be a friend when Lance barely had anyone. 

And now Keith is honestly just ready to go to bed. As much as he wants to stay up all night with his face buried in Lance’s neck, talking and laughing and wrapping his arms around him, he knows that isn’t reality. He knows that reality is colder--that he only got to know Lance to help him find his dad. It was a deal, and the deal will be over soon. He knows that Lance has so many other problems, without having to worry about a sad boy who is so in love with him it physically hurts. He knows that he’s just one more person in a world that is already in love with Lance, and none of this matters in the long run. 

And he knows that tomorrow is probably going to be hard. And it’s going to be an ending. And  _ that _ is the reality. 

Keith strips off his shirt, earning him an exaggerated wolf whistle from behind him. “Look at that lil’ body,” Lance says. “Looks so much nicer when it’s not covered in open wounds.” 

Heat pool in Keith’s cheeks as he looks down at the fully healed scrapes on his torso. They are only a little pink now, and barely noticeable. 

“Yeah…” Keith says. “I’m...sorry you had to see that when you did.” He turns around to face Lance now, who is giving him a sympathetic look. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Lance says. His eyes scan Keith’s torso before looking back up again. “You  _ are _ okay, right?” 

Keith shrugs, slipping his shirt on and walking back to the bed. “I mean, I’m not perfect. But...I’m better.” He sniffs, feeling self-conscious, all of a sudden. “Started going to therapy a couple months ago, and it’s given me a lot to think about.” 

“Really?” Lance looks happy. “That’s great, man.” 

“I don’t know. It’s been okay, I guess. I haven’t had an...episode for a while.” 

“I noticed.” 

Keith smiles. “I mean, it can still happen, but...I guess I know why it’s happening now, at least.” 

Lance scoots in a  little closer to him. “You are brave for facing this,” he says. “I’m really happy for you.” 

Heat creeps up Keith’s neck. “I...had a dream the other night. It was the first good one that I’ve had in while. You know...about my dad.” 

“Yeah?” Lance bumps their shoulders, encouraging. “What happened?” 

“I dunno. We just...talked.” Keith smiles a little to himself. “Just talked about Shiro. And he was fine. Healthy and everything. It was the first sign that...I may be feeling better than I have in bit.” 

They take a moment, just thinking. Keith doesn't know what Lance is thinking about, but he knows it’s probably personal. They both look down at their feet, dangling off the edge of the bed. 

“Thank you,” Lance says gently. “So much. For everything.” 

Keith chuckles. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

“I do.” Lance nods, shutting his eyes. “I really do. I know that at the beginning you weren’t doing it out of the kindness of your heart but...still. Thank you. You don’t understand how much I needed you when it all went down, and I don’t think you ever will.” 

Keith doesn’t want to say the words, but he knows they are going to come out anyway. “Trust me,” he says, giving Lance the most genuine smile he can muster, “I needed you, too.”

 

><><><><><

 

They don’t fall asleep cuddling, but Lance’s words still warm him in a way that no cuddling ever could. 

 

><><><><><

 

At 3AM, Keith hears a shuffling noise that jostles him awake. He cracks his eye open and sees the blurry form of Lance in the darkness, peeling himself out of bed. The hardwood floors creak slightly underneath his weight as he creeps up to the door. Keith shuts his eyes again and pretends to be asleep. He’s not sure why. He feels like he’s just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to. When the door squeaks open, and then softly shuts again, Keith allows himself to sit up. Lance’s spot next to him sits empty, and it makes him feel lonelier than he thought it would. He tries hard to lay back down; to go back to sleep. But he can’t. The thought of Lance and the weight of the unspoken conversation still hangs in the air. 

The thought of Lance. 

That’s all it takes for sleepless nights these days, apparently. 

After half an hour of tossing and turning, Keith gives up. He decides to get out of bed, heart feeling cold and in need of warmth. It’s a strange feeling that has taken him over--like he knows that being around Lance makes him warm. Like he’s craving it. 

He walks out into the kitchen and keeps walking until he gets to the window. He peers through the large pane of glass, down the staircase that leads to the beach. It’s not quite clear, but he sees the light smudge of Lance’s white t-shirt against the night sky. He sees the tiny, slumped form of him, sitting at the edge of the water and watching the tide chase his toes. Keith feels familiar warmth curling up in his chest. Just seeing him was enough to begin to settle the craving. He slides the door open and makes his way down the stairs. 

As he approaches the shore, the steps creak beneath him. Lance stills for a moment at the sound and then turns around. His hair is wet and shaggy, which means he probably just went for a swim. The saltwater has made the mop on his head fluffier than ever as it dries in the wind. He smiles, sleepy and affectionate, when he sees Keith. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says softly. “I had a feeling you’d follow me out here.” 

Keith hums, ignoring the leaping of his heart in his throat. “Am I getting that predictable?” 

“You’ve always been that predictable.” Lance watches as Keith sits down next to him in the sand. His voice sounds soft. “I had you all figured out, from the very beginning.” 

“Oh yeah?” Keith grins. 

“Sure.” Lance is grinning now too, but if gaze is out toward the water. “Wanna-be bad boy, actual teddy bear.” His voice gets even quieter. “An  _ adorable _ teddy bear.”  

Keith’s face burns. “Not sure how accurate that is.” 

“Seems accurate enough to me.” 

The night is warm. The breeze whips humid air around their heads. Keith can feel the moisture collecting on his skin. In his hair. Like dew on blades of grass. The smell of seawater and sand and the faintest hint of lingering sunscreen fill Keith’s senses. He takes a deep breath and lays down in the sand, resting his hands on his stomach and staring at the black, starless sky. With a shuffling noise, he realizes that Lance is doing the same. They lay in silence for what feels like a long time. After listening to the repetitive crashing of the waves, Keith decides to speak. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, 

“Nah,” Lance replies. “Wasn’t your fault. You’re a great sleeping buddy.” 

Keith smiles softly. 

“I just...I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure this whole thing out ever since my dad disappeared. And now I’m  _ here _ and it’s…” 

They lay in silence again. Keith prepares himself for the conversation. He prepares himself to finally tell Lance what he has found out. To make sure they are both prepared, and both on the same page. But then Lance is talking again. 

“One of my favorite things about coming here with Hayden was when he would swim with me.” Keith can hear the wistful smile on Lance’s lips. “I mean, it sounds lame. But, the times that I would come with my dad, we always spent hours talking to fans on the beach. And taking scuba diving lessons, and surf lessons and basically being photographed the entire time. One time he bought a kayak for me and made sure there was press around to get the story. Like, it was a kid’s dream, doing all that crazy stuff, but I never wanted to. I just wanted to, like... _ swim _ .” 

Lance’s voice sounds soothing. A little raspy. Keith can feel it dancing across his skin, warm and cozy. He wants to melt into it. He turns onto his side, quite shamelessly, so that he can face Lance. So that he can watch him talk. The sand is cool and smooth underneath him. 

“And then one time, Hayden brought me out here,” Lance continues. “We just...walked into the water. It just got deeper, and deeper, and we kept walking.” Lance laughs, sounding surprised. “I still remember how I felt the moment my feet couldn’t reach the bottom anymore. The first moment I ever just  _ floated _ in the water--without a surfboard, or a snorkel, or a jet ski, or anything. Just  _ me _ . Me and the water.” A wave crashes, scattering static into the wind. “I was eleven.” 

Keith can’t stop looking at Lance, even if he tries. So he doesn’t. 

Lance turns to face him, breath warm on his face. It feels daring. Keith can see the slight sheen of sweat on Lance’s face. There isn’t much light out tonight, but the soft glow from the house above them is enough for Keith to see the moisture collecting on Lance’s upper lip, the droplets near his hairline, the sloppy, windblown hair. 

“I wish I had more happy memories with my dad,” Lance says. “I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to be feeling right now.” 

Keith nods. “I bet it’s hard,” he replies gently. “You kind of just have to...feel things anyway.” 

“I don’t like feeling things.” 

Keith finds himself chuckling. “Maybe not. But count your blessings. You never had to stand on the edge of a building to get your feelings back.” 

Lance blinks at him, looking shocked that Keith even brought that up. It’s like he momentarily forgot how they ended up here in the first place. “Right,” he says. “Kinda weird how we’re opposites.”

“Hm,” Keith hums, nodding. “Right.” 

The conversation lags there for a bit. Lance’s eyes start to drift shut. He looks exhausted, Keith realizes. He’s not sure how he missed it before. He debates trying to fall asleep again; maybe waking up tomorrow with the sunrise painting Lance’s face with gold. What a sight to see, first thing in the morning. 

But then reality tugs at him in the back of his mind, like a small needle that keeps poking and poking the same place, repeatedly. The truth. The reason they are here, on this beach. Lance’s father. “Lance…” Keith sighs shakily. Lance’s eyes open again and they bore into Keith’s, honest and unguarded. Keith can’t believe he ever thought those eyes were fake. There is nothing artificial about them now as they scan over Keith’s face. “I need to tell you something...for your ears only.” His voice cracks as he says it. He’s not even sure Lance heard him, with how quiet it ended up being.

Lance’s expression is sleepy and open. A moment later, his eyes fall shut again. He smiles, snuggling closer into the sand. Snuggling a little closer to Keith, whether it is intentional or not. Keith can almost taste him, his lips just a breath away. Saltwater. Sweat. The sea. “Hm? And what’s that, gorgeous?” Lance asks sleepily. Then, in a smaller, almost inaudible voice, “You going to tell me you’re madly in love with me or somethin’?” 

There is an edge of teasing to his voice, but not nearly as much as ever before. It sounds delicate. Cautious. And gentle. The smile stays on his lips, eyes still closed, like a secret. A tiny, delicious secret. 

Keith’s stomach erupts with some absurd version of butterflies; relentless and chaotic. He finds, to his absolute horror, that he can’t bring himself to say  _ anything _ . No snarky remark, no dramatic eye roll, no scoff, no witty quip in reply. He just lays there, dumbstruck. He doesn't know how long he sits there, in complete silence. All he knows is that with every second that passes, his strength to deny Lance lessens. With every second that passes, he is moving further and further away from being able to repair what is about to be done. 

The smile slowly fades from Lance’s lips as realization dawns on his face. There is a hurricane in Keith’s lungs. Lance cracks an eye open. There is an earthquake in Keith’s stomach. Lance’s brow furrows slightly. There is a wildfire in Keith’s head. 

Keith is melting. 

“Keith?” Lance whispers.

Keith is melting. 

“Hey, Kogane…”

Keith is melting. 

Lance swallows, hard. He chuckles, airy but nervous. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” 

Melting. 

Melting. 

_ Melting.  _

And he doesn’t even realize what he’s done until he tastes saltwater on his lips. 

Lance makes a surprised noise when Keith bunches the collar of his shirt up in his fists. Lance’s lips are still for a moment on his, shocked and unmoving before Keith pulls him in closer by the neck of his shirt. In an instant, Lance’s lips melt into him. They are not at all what Keith was expecting. They aren’t frantic, or heated, or overly confident. They are pliant, and shy, and hesitant. They are yearning, and giving, and  _ real _ . They taste of salt, faded lip balm, sweat, lingering toothpaste. They are chapped, and bitten, and shaky as they move against Keith’s. But Keith’s head is spinning, and his heart is pounding, and he’s convinced this may be the best kiss he’s ever had in his entire life. 

Lance is so real. 

And he is so  _ beautiful.  _

Keith pushes in closer, feeling overeager and not able to stop himself. Lance complies with ease, moving onto his back and allowing Keith to roll on top of him a little. Keith is surprised when he feels Lance’s tongue run across his lips, hot and quick, like asking for permission. He parts his lips with a small, involuntary noise. He can’t be bothered to be embarrassed. Lance’s body is firm and hot underneath him, pressing in all the right places. His hands are shy, but wander Keith’s torso like new land yet to be explored. New secrets to discover. Lance’s long fingers trace down Keith’s spine, run across his shoulder blades, leaving small shivers to travel through him as he tries to soak in every sensation he’s feeling, desperate not to miss something. Lance’s lips are becoming hungrier every second. A hand slips into Keith’s hair, brushing up his neck, his ear, his temple. Keith feels overheated at the simplicity of the touch. He feels like he could suffocate, having Lance so close. Having Lance's hands on him. Having Lance's body beneath him, muscles strong and shifting deliciously under his thin white t-shirt. Keith’s hands have a mind of their own, running all over Lance almost uncontrollably. Lance’s smell, the sweet bite of the salty ocean, is intoxicating. And when Lance makes the tiniest noise--somewhere between a whine and a sigh of relief, Keith’s stomach plummets as if he is on a rollercoaster. 

They separate for a moment with a shaky exhale, and Lance holds Keith’s face steady, one hand on each cheek. Their noses touch. Heavy breaths mingle. Lance's eyes are shut, chest heaving slightly. “You are so  _ gorgeous _ ,’ he whispers in disbelief. The familiar word has Keith reeling. “I can’t even believ--mmm.” 

Keith shakes his head, leaning in again and muffling an embarrassing sound into Lance’s mouth. The waves crash in front of them. Keith feels the tide starting to pick away at their dry feet, but neither of them care. The wildfire isn’t just in Keith’s head anymore. Lance’s touch has Keith’s entire body consumed in it now, crackling and popping and roaring with life. His nerves buzz and his muscles hum and his chest fizzes and he is  _ melting _ . 

And melting.

And melting. 

And melting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :) 
> 
>  
> 
> twitter: @salibawrites  
> tumblr: dimplesandcurlsss

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: dimplesandcurlsss  
> my art insta: @allscribbledup


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